“Tyler, thanks so much for coming in to talk with us.”
“It’s my pleasure.” Ty shook hands with the three people seated across from him in plush, bright-colored armchairs. The one in the middle—the only one wearing slacks and a button-down—was Sanjay Reddy, the guy Ty had been exchanging emails with.
The one on the right was an Asian woman, young, likely straight out of college, wearing ripped jeans and a T-shirt that said Nevertheless, she persisted. The one on the left was a black man, late twenties maybe, also in jeans, but with a Brooklyn Nets hoodie on.
This was by far the strangest interview Ty had been to, but ANN had yet to extend an official offer, so he was hedging his bets.
“As you can see, we’re a little unconventional here at Behind the Veil,” Sanjay said, gesturing to the office space.
“I noticed.” Ty grinned, turning on his charm. The woman gave him a half smile, but she didn’t look amused. The other man’s expression barely twitched. Tough crowd.
“You don’t have much investigative journalism experience in your portfolio,” Sanjay said.
“You’re right.” Ty widened his grin. “I don’t.”
He launched into his prepared answer for why his lack of experience in that area of journalism would not be a hindrance to the team. What followed was a lively discussion about the merits and drawbacks of investigative journalism, its purpose, and its limitations.
By the end of the forty-five minutes, Ty felt like he had attended a college seminar rather than a job interview. His brain swam with ideas, full to overflowing, and he was primed to go for another forty-five minutes. They all stood, Abby, Sanjay, and Rich, each shaking his hand before they walked him out to the lobby.
As he climbed into his cab, Ty reached for his phone. He pulled up Cam’s number and was about to hit the Call button, when he stopped himself. They hadn’t spoken since Thanksgiving a week ago, and the longer the radio silence lasted, the harder it was to reinitiate the conversation.
The energy thrumming through his veins faded to a dull hum, and he leaned his head back against the seat, staring out at the passing traffic. They were behaving like teenagers, neither one willing to admit what they were feeling. It was stupid, but every time his thumb hovered over the Dial button, he couldn’t bring himself to tap it. And with each passing day, the pain in his chest grew a little bit sharper.
Cam was walking down the hall toward his office, coming back from a smoke break, when his desk phone started ringing. Jogging the last few feet, he grabbed the handset off the cradle. “Cameron Donnelly.”
“Hey, Cam.” Teresa came across the line, loud and clear.
“Hi, Teresa. How’s it going?” He sat against the front edge of his desk, extending his legs out in front of him.
“How are you?”
Cam winced. Ever since his meltdown, Teresa had been asking him that question every time they spoke. “I’m fine, Teresa.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Thank you.” She was worse than his mother.
“Good. Have you read the latest coordination report from Doro Camp?”
Cam scanned his desk for the coordination report from South Sudan. Shifting some papers around, he dug up the report he’d read earlier that day. “Yeah, I’ve got it here. They really need to get their shit together on the ground.”
“Yes, they do. We need someone with more experience down there to get things straightened out.”
He tossed the report back into the pile of papers. “I agree. They’re too close to the situation to be objective about what needs to be done.”
Teresa didn’t reply right away, and the hesitation sent a wave of prickles over his skin. “Did you have someone in mind?” he asked, though he didn’t want the answer.
The phone line picked up the sound of Teresa’s sigh before she answered. “A few names came up. Yours was at the top of the list.”
He gasped as his darkness rushed at him so fast he wasn’t able to hold it off. He hunched over at the waist, free hand braced against the desk. Teresa continued to speak, but Cam couldn’t hear her over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. He needed to sit down. He needed a smoke. Fuck that. He needed a drink.
“—wouldn’t ask this of you if we thought there was another way.”
Cam struggled to remember the coping techniques Dr. Brown had given him, but in the moment, he couldn’t piece them together while fighting off the darkness and trying to listen to Teresa.
“Yeah, Teresa, um, I need to call you back,” Cam managed to squeeze out, his throat tight as his darkness tried to pull him away. “Yeah, sorry, I’ll talk to you later.”
He hung up without waiting for a response and shot out of his office back toward the elevator. His hand dug into his pocket where the package of smokes still sat, and he reminded himself not to squeeze it too hard. Can’t smoke the cigarettes if they’re all broken.
The elevator couldn’t arrive fast enough, and when it did, Cam gave silent thanks that it was empty. Falling back against the wall, he closed his eyes and breathed. In, two, three. Out, two, three. He imagined a bright spot in his mind, somewhere in the distance, and told himself to walk toward that. One step at a time, heading toward the brightness, even as his darkness clawed at him.
When the elevator finally dinged and the doors slid open, Cam was not any closer to the brightness, but he hadn’t let the darkness overtake him either. That was a good sign. Out on the street, the first couple of drags on his cigarette helped to soothe the prickling sensation across his skin, and he needed a couple of more before he felt like the darkness was temporarily satiated. It sat in the background, fully present and in his mind, but keeping a distance so he could sort this out on his own.
With his back against the cold concrete wall, eyes closed against the pedestrian traffic, Cam tried to recall what Teresa had said. Doro Camp in South Sudan was a mess. The entirety of the newly formed country was a disaster, and the instability made it impossible for the aid community to provide a safe environment for refugees.
From what Cam had read about the conditions on the ground, they had two options: pull out completely and leave millions of people with a veritable death sentence, or send in a more experienced team to help gather more resources together. Those were his choices: leave people to die or go back into the fray.
He fumbled for his phone. Pulling up his contacts, he first scrolled to Ty and then stopped and stared at the name on his screen. Ty had no responsibility toward him, he had made that very clear. Cam was a fool to hope for anything more in the future.
Gritting his teeth, he scrolled past Ty’s name and found Dr. Brown. He had an appointment with her later this week, but maybe she could squeeze him in last minute.
“When Teresa told you they were going to send you back out to the field, how did that make you feel?” Dr. Brown asked, pen in hand, notebook balanced on her lap.
Cam fiddled with the piping on the upholstery of the armchair he sat in. He should have known that would be her question, but the answer didn’t come any easier. “I think I was afraid?”
“Okay. Why were you afraid?”
Cam had asked himself the same question the night before as he sat curled up on his couch, but none of the answers felt right. He wasn’t afraid of the danger, or the people, or the type of work, though demanding it was. “I don’t know.”
“What about your darkness? Did it make an appearance?” Dr. Brown tilted her head forward, elbows now braced on the arms of the chair, hands steepled in front of her mouth.
“Yeah.” Cam nodded. “Right away.”
“Tell me about that. What was the darkness reacting to?”
Cam thought back to yesterday and how he had managed to keep the darkness at bay long enough to finish out the day at work. But when he got home, the darkness had come rushing in like a surging wave, drawing him down into its sweet oblivion. He’d drunk last night. The first time in several weeks. The hangover he’d woken up with was another confirmation that he needed help.
He shook his head. “I don’t know. But I don’t want to go.”
She didn’t respond for a moment, and Cam didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t want to go, because . . . The puzzle pieces began clicking into place, like smudged glasses wiped clean so he could see clearly again.
“Is it because I’d be forced back into the closet?”
Dr. Brown raised an eyebrow. “Is it?”
He tested out the idea in his head before speaking. “I don’t want to have to watch what I say, where I look, constantly checking over my shoulder for someone who is a little too interested in me, because there’s always someone trying to out me.” Cam bent forward, elbows braced on his knees. “A lot of the communities we work in are very traditional and conservative. Few are accepting of gay people. There are consequences if I’m outted, not only for myself—I can leave anytime. But for the people around me, especially the local LGBT people who aren’t able to leave, it’s dangerous.”
He paused and Dr. Brown stepped in. “That’s a lot of responsibility you carry, keeping everyone around you safe in addition to yourself.”
Cam rubbed his hand over his face and spoke into his palm. “I feel like I’ve barely relearned how to be myself. I’m finally getting my fucking life back together. I can’t afford to lose it all again.”
And then there was Ty, who had consumed his thoughts as much as the prospect of going back out into the field. He had been there as Cam spun out of control and pulled him back onto solid ground. What right did Cam have to expect him to give up his dreams? Especially if Cam wasn’t going to be around either?
“What are you thinking about now?”
Cam glanced up, momentarily lost in his thoughts. “There’s a guy.” Saying it out loud was like confessing to a crush for the first time. He shifted back in his seat, rubbing his palms against his thighs.
“Someone you’re seeing?” Dr. Brown’s consistent nonjudgmental expression was what Cam usually liked about her, but sometimes he wished she would react so he’d know if what he was feeling was normal.
“Yeah, but not really.” Cam frowned as he searched for the words to describe what he and Ty were supposed to be. “He’s probably leaving too.” He let out a heavy sigh. “He might get a job in the Middle East.”
Dr. Brown nodded. “And how do you feel about him possibly leaving?”
Cam lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “We haven’t made any promises to each other.” The sadness he felt at those words surprised him.
“How do you feel about that?”
It always came back to his damn feelings. “I’m not thrilled about it.”
“Does he factor into how you feel about going back into the field?”
Phrased that way, a new option materialized in Cam’s mind. Would he give up the field if Ty gave up the new job? His heart hammered at the possibility. “I don’t know.”