“Would you just stop already?” Matthew shouted at Jude’s back. “We lost them like six blocks ago.”
His friend slowed, and Matthew stumbled to a stop, nearly colliding with him.
“What the hell happened?” Matthew panted.
Jude leaned over, hands on his thighs as he struggled to catch his breath. His Wonder Woman wig was askew, fake black hair tumbling out of the chintzy gold tiara and into his face. Still breathing hard, he said, “Damn frat boys. Being too sensitive.”
Matthew glared at him as he struggled to catch his own breath. “What did you say?”
“Does it matter? I started talking shit with some frat boys, and . . .” Jude gestured at the dark, empty street around them. “Here we are.”
“Damn it, Jude!” Matthew threw up his hands. “Why? Why would you drag me to a party, give me a chance to connect with a guy, and then . . .” He flailed and swore. “Seriously, man?”
Jude laughed. “But hey, you were talking to a guy who wasn’t Raymond, so—”
“Exactly!” Matthew grabbed his friend by the shoulders. “And then you had to run your damn mouth before I could even figure out how to contact this guy again. I mean, did you see him?”
Jude narrowed his eyes and shrugged out of Matthew’s grasp. “You mean did I see Rabi Hashmi?”
Matthew’s blood turned cold. “What . . . what did you say?”
His friend huffed out a sigh. “Seriously? You didn’t know who he was?”
“Uh, no. I just met him like two minutes before—” Matthew waved his hand. “What do you mean, Hashmi?”
Jude’s lips thinned and his eyes narrowed even more. “You need me to spell it out?”
Matthew stared at him for a moment, then swore and raked a hand through his hair. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Jude took out his phone, tapped the screen a few times, and handed it over.
Matthew’s stomach lurched. On the screen was a Facebook page, and the profile picture was undeniably Rabi. Matthew might have only spent a few minutes in his company, but he’d recognize those eyes anywhere.
And below the picture, clear as day: Rabi Hashmi.
He tried to tell himself a lot of the immigrants in this town had similar names because entire extended families had settled here, but that didn’t hold much water against the cover photo at the top of Rabi’s profile. Him and his family, with the patriarch in the middle, all of them smiling and gathered around a red, white, and blue sign that read Elect Emir Hashmi – US Senate.
Matthew pushed out a breath. Of all the men who could have caught his eye tonight . . .
“Sorry, man,” Jude said with what sounded like actual sympathy. “You dodged a bullet with this one. And let’s face it—so did he. Those racist fucks who raised you would tear him to pieces.”
Matthew gave a resigned nod and handed back the phone. “Don’t tell anyone about this, okay?”
“Of course not.” Jude pocketed his phone. Where, Matthew wasn’t entirely sure, and he didn’t try too hard to figure it out. Jude touched his arm. “Listen, man. I’m sorry about how tonight played out, all right? But you don’t want to get involved with that family.”
Matthew cut his eyes toward his friend. “I should stay away from the Muslims?”
Jude rolled his eyes and smacked Matthew’s arm. “Don’t try to paint me as a racist, you jackass. You know what I’m saying. Your dad finds out you’re into a guy, especially a Muslim guy, and especially a Hashmi, he’ll fucking disown your ass.” He inclined his head and lifted his eyebrows. “You ready to be out on your own and paying that tuition all by yourself?”
Gnawing the inside of his cheek, Matthew sighed. “Okay, I see your point.” He hated being this dependent on his family even when it didn’t mean toeing political lines he didn’t agree with. As it was, Matthew would be out on his own if his family found out he was gay. Gay with a crush on a guy from that family? He didn’t want to imagine the fallout. Especially since it would almost certainly be worse for Rabi and his family.
“Come on.” Jude put an arm around his shoulders. “The car’s a few blocks that way. Let’s get out of here.”
Matthew said nothing. He just followed Jude and kept right on thinking about Rabi.
His father would have his head if he found out about this. And if Matthew actually connected with Rabi? If something actually happened between them?
After three sleepless nights, though, Matthew couldn’t help himself. He and Rabi had only had a few short minutes together, but it had been enough to make him hungry for more. He hadn’t imagined that connection, had he? How Rabi seemed to gravitate toward him, and how even their nervous just-met conversation had seemed natural somehow? Like they could have talked all night if Jude hadn’t done something stupid?
Maybe Matthew was grabbing on to the nearest man who wasn’t Raymond, but he needed another chance with Rabi. Even if it was only a minute or two. Anything to see if there really was a connection, or if they’d just been a couple of bored guys at a party.
Filled with determination and no small amount of nerves, Matthew left campus after class and drove downtown. The roads around Daffodil Park were cordoned off with plastic barriers and guarded by bored-looking cops. Matthew had to drive for almost fifteen minutes before he found a small parking lot with a few spaces open.
From there, he walked through the brisk October wind toward the park. He paused near the entrance, wondering if there’d be blowback on Rabi if someone saw them together. The Swains caused the Hashmis enough problems.
But talking to him for just a minute wouldn’t cause a big scandal. Right?
Still uneasy but determined, Matthew continued toward the rally.
The park wasn’t huge—mostly grass and some tiny fountains and statues encircling a covered bandstand. Right now, crews were stringing up lights and banners on the bandstand, and cops were directing people to the designated area for the crowd in front of the high stage.
Two guys on ladders pulled a blue-lined banner taut, and Matthew’s throat tightened.
Elect Emir Hashmi – US Senate.
Matthew’s heart pounded. Was this really a good idea?
Probably not, but he’d talked himself into it and he wasn’t turning back.
Emir Hashmi’s rally wasn’t due to start for another hour, but the crowd was swelling fast. Though Emir wasn’t expected to win this district—as opposed to the rest of the state where he was going strong—he still had a surprising amount of local support given his racial, religious, and political disadvantages. That had been an enormous source of frustration for Matthew’s dad ever since Emir had announced he was running against him.
There’d been some speculation that either Dad or Emir had decided to run just to make sure the other lost. No Swain would tolerate a Hashmi in such a powerful position, and vice versa. Their bitter rivalry had started back in the 1960s when the Hashmi family had immigrated, joining the tiny but growing Muslim community on the south side of town. A few years later, a Hashmi had been blamed for the death of a Swain, and even after the evidence had indisputably proven his innocence, the damage had been done. Matthew’s family finally had a reason to unleash the violent hatred that had been quietly simmering since the mosque had been built in their town.
For decades, the rivalry had grown along with both communities, and while things had been relatively peaceful for the last fifteen or twenty years, there had been occasional bloodshed on both sides. With the Swains and Hashmis facing off politically, it was only a matter of time before there was violence again. Especially once the election was over. Someone had to lose, and the loser’s family wasn’t going to like it.
So Matthew was, to say the least, nervous to be standing in this crowd. And if Rabi found out who he was, well . . .
This was a bad idea.
But he was already here. He just wanted to see Rabi, and if Rabi wisely wanted nothing to do with him, then Matthew would leave. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Matthew was no stranger to these rallies. It was just weird to not be on the stage with his own father, and instead looking up at the man his father was trying to beat.
He knew from his father’s many rants that Hashmi brought his family with him to every event. No politician was complete without the supportive family smiling in the background during his speeches. Matthew had played that role himself more times than he could count, especially during the summer when he’d endlessly toured the state with his father’s campaign. He didn’t envy Rabi tonight, but hoped he’d be here.
With his face partially obscured by the zipped-up collar of his parka and the shadow of his baseball cap, Matthew casually joined the crowd. As he moved, it wasn’t lost on him that a Hashmi slipping through the crowd like this at a Swain rally wouldn’t be quite as inconspicuous as he was. A white guy who was obviously trying to hide his face? He must be cold. A Pakistani guy doing the same?
Ugh. Fuck this town.
There was still plenty of room at the front, so he edged his way up to the barrier, and waited for the rally to begin. Before long, Hashmi’s family members began to appear. They were easy to spot because they were dressed up, unlike the crew, who were neat but casual. Emir’s wife wore a bright purple and gold hijab, and her oldest daughter had a red, white, and blue one. Emir himself was in a suit as always, as were his sons.
And—there.
Near the back of the stage, huddled in a black leather jacket that he’d probably switch out for a suit coat before long, was Rabi. Hands stuffed in his pockets, hair mussed by the snapping wind, some blush in his olive-skinned cheeks thanks to the biting cold—he was just as stunning as he’d been the other night. He was no longer dressed like a Greek god, but he still stopped Matthew dead in his tracks.
Rabi took out his phone and started fiddling with it, oblivious to Matthew gazing up at him from below the stage.
Matthew could barely breathe. How in the world had he ever attracted the attention of a man that gorgeous, never mind from across a crowded room? And when Matthew and Jude had taken off, Rabi had called after him. He’d . . . wanted Matthew to stay. How? This man could not be further out of Matthew’s league, and yet . . .
Matthew’s heart went crazy. Coming here definitely hadn’t been a mistake. Now he just needed a way to get Rabi’s attention so he could find out if that connection—that inexplicable but undeniable connection—still existed.
In his pocket, his phone buzzed.
He took it out, expecting Jude or his family to be looking for him.
It’s Rabi from the other night.
Matthew tensed. No way. He opened Facebook and tapped the message. It was indeed from the profile Jude had shown him. No friend request, but that was probably smart, given their public personas.
Pulse thumping, Matthew wrote back, You found me! :)
Had to. Pause. You’re really Bob Swain’s son?
Yep. And you’re Emir Hashmi’s kid.
Yeah. Damn.
Neither of them typed anything for a long moment. Matthew’s heart sank into the pit of his stomach. Great. He’d been here long enough to see Rabi and know that inkling of desire really existed, and Rabi had made enough contact to imply that things hadn’t started and finished the other night. But Matthew was a Swain and Rabi was a Hashmi, and they might as well be Hatfields and McCoys.
Sighing, Matthew decided there was no point in staying for the rally. He’d just be torturing himself.
Before he could leave, though, another message came through:
I shouldn’t, but I want to see you.
Matthew’s head snapped up. Rabi’s back was to him now. He seemed to be studying his phone. Maybe waiting for a response.
Matthew replied, Want to see you too. Don’t care about our dads.
Rabi’s body language was impossible to read from here. He was probably playing it as cool as he could so no one would get curious, but there was some undeniable tightness in his shoulders. It was undoubtedly a lot easier for Matthew to say their dads and politics didn’t matter right now. Rabi was literally onstage with his father, getting ready to encourage people to vote for him.
And still, Rabi wrote: When/where?
Matthew chewed his lip and weighed his options. Finally, he decided to go for broke:
Turn around.
Rabi froze. Then, slowly, he turned around.
And his gaze landed right on Matthew.
Rabi’s lips parted. Matthew’s heart pounded. As they stared at each other—Rabi from up on the stage and Matthew from down in the crowd—they both began to smile, and the late-October chill could do nothing to counter the sudden warmth rushing over Matthew.
Fingers unsteady and head spinning, Matthew shifted his attention to his phone and sent Rabi another message: Can I see you after the rally?
Matthew looked up. Rabi had casually turned away again, but he was still visible in profile. When he checked his screen, his smile broadened, turning Matthew’s knees to liquid.
Rabi wrote back, Tell me where to meet you. I’ll be there.
They exchanged one more look, and Matthew slipped back into the crowd and away from the bandstand. As the rally kicked off behind him, he strode away from the park, heart going a million miles an hour.
This was insane. It was reckless. It was dangerous. Just sneaking into the rally, hidden mostly by a jacket and a hat, Matthew had been taking a hell of a chance. Something as benign as having coffee in public with Rabi was risky—this town was small enough that someone was bound to recognize the sons of Emir Hashmi and Bob Swain, and ask questions about why they were alone together.
Wherever they met up, whatever they did, they had to be discreet, especially for Rabi’s sake. If they were smart, they wouldn’t do it at all, but . . .
He thought of how Rabi’s eyes had lit up when they’d seen each other tonight, and he shivered, grinning into his zipped-up collar as he headed for his car.
I don’t care who our fathers are, Rabi.
I want to know what it’s like to know you.