Page 47 of What You Own
He took a breath that turned into a shudder. Ripped away and shut himself into a stall. My stomach flipped, unhappy, that black splotch in my guts getting bigger. Oilier. Nastier.
I returned to the auditorium on shaky legs. Somehow I got up and sang “Light My Candle” with Ellie, and we were okay. I knew the song backward, but I still missed a few cues. Ellie arched an eyebrow at me when we were done. All I could do was shrug.
Larry and Susan were pretty hilarious. If they camped it up a little more, they’d be the highlight of the adult performances. Everyone thought so. Adam was back by the time they finished, and then it was our turn.
My only saving grace was that “Mark” and “Roger” never looked at each other during this song. They were each singing from a different place, dancing around each other like ghosts, not acknowledging the other. If I’d had to look Adam in the eyes, everyone watching would know how I felt about him. And how scared I was that everything was about to implode.
The music came up. Adam’s hand tapped the time on his thigh. He closed his eyes. Opened them again on his first belted lyric. His voice washed over me, a lover’s caress without actually touching, singing lyrics that had become incredibly personal over the last few years. I nearly missed my own cue to join in. We sang one at a time for several moments, and then our voices merged into one.
“What was it about that night?” ripped out of my heart in a way I’d never considered the line before. A perfect summary of the night our lives had changed.
“You’re not alone!” choked me up, but I got past it, and then it was over.
I didn’t hear the applause. Couldn’t hear anything over my thundering heartbeat and the blood rushing in my ears. For a song that was a rock ballad rather than a love anthem, I’d felt it from head to toe. It loosened my twisted-up heart. Made me hopeful about talking with Adam later.
Someone planted me in a plastic chair—thank you, Ellie—and handed me a bottle of water. I sipped at it, aware of Adam standing close by, rocking on his heels, hands deep in the pockets of his khaki shorts. Other people sang. They got feedback. I tried to talk to some of the teenagers who’d hung around for the adult portion. Everything was by remote.
The rehearsal finally wound down. I’d lost sight of Adam. He texted that he was in the break room, waiting. I went to him, feeling each heavy step, pulled forward by an invisible chord that had bound us for years. I shut the door behind me and faced him, nervous as a whore in church. He stood near the room’s small window, arms folded over his chest, looking out. Away from me. His profile was beautiful, so perfect.
Mine.
“I love you,” I said. I didn’t plan it. The words fell out all honest and open, and I let them lay there to be picked up or trod on.
Adam’s face pinched up like he was gonna cry. “I love you too, Rye, so fucking much.”
“I felt like Roger up there just now. I felt it all in that song, in the words and music. I know it won’t be easy, but I need you.”
He angled toward me, his pretty blue eyes bright with tears. I stayed put, too scared of those tears to try and comfort him. “Joe knows.”
My world narrowed in on his face and those two little words. “Joe Quartermaine?”
“Yes. He knew from the start that you were on the committee. Neither of us told my dad. Joe’s known me my whole life. He knows I wasn’t catting around, sleeping with different girls every night. He knows it’s you.”
The awful black splotch got bigger, pressing my heart into my ribcage. “And?”
“He promised to keep our secret for now. He says Dad’s scared of me getting hurt again.”
“And hiding who you are doesn’t hurt you?” The words felt raw in my throat. It didn’t make any sense.
“Physically, Rye. Hurt physically. I was bashed once before I came out to anyone, even myself. Dad sat by me while I was in a coma, and he watched me struggle to get back from that. He may be a jerk and a bigot, but he does love me.”
“Ilove you, Adam. I do. I know you got hurt back then, and I can’t promise either one of us will never get hurt again. But I can promise thatIwon’t hurt you. I will never turn my back on you for being who you are. Can your daddy say the same thing?”
“He knows you’re on the committee.”
My hands jerked, and I took a step back, my heel hitting the leg of a chair. “He knows?” I glanced around the room, half expecting to see him standing next to the antique microwave, ready to threaten me for sleeping with his son.
“He was home Wednesday night when I got there. I had to lie to him, and I hated it. I hated how easy it was.”
“What did you lie to him about?”
“I told him you hated us both, that you refused to talk to me about the bashing, and that we barely tolerate each other.” His voice cracked a little, like repeating the words physically hurt him. “He believed me.”
“So he doesn’t know we’re together?”
“Hell no. He’s proud of me for sticking through it to the end and making sure the fundraiser is successful, despite you being around.”
“Then what is all this, Adam? He doesn’t know, Mr. Quartermaine isn’t sayin’ anything. Why are you so tied up in knots?”
