Page 110 of String Boys
“Arrested,” Kelly said, the word falling like a brutal sword.
“I was going to say happy,” Seth mumbled, the truth no easier to hear in Kelly’s arms than it had been in the back of his head for the past three years. “When can I come home?”
“Not this year,” Kelly said wearily. “The local station just did one of those unsub shows—Castor Durant was one of the cold cases.” He grunted. “They left out my name, thank fucking God, but they mentioned ‘a young African American person who may be a person of interest.’”
Seth was horrified. “Like… like when? When did this happen?”
“Right before Thanksgiving.” Kelly let out a breath. “Not even a mention that there were two people at the crime scene that night—”
“I can’t verify that,” Seth said, because he couldn’t. “But… maybe I can visit? Like Easter? Or summer vacation?”
“Just wait,” Kelly begged. “Wait. I’ll come with you some day. You know it, right? I’ll come with you. I’ll…. We can go to….”
“Italy,” Seth said, voice falling glumly.
“I beg your pardon?”
Ugh. Seth hadn’t wanted to broach this, but fuck. Fuck all the things.
“There’s a symphony in Italy, and they want me to come play in the fall. I’ve been trying to tell them no—”
“Don’t you dare!” Kelly fought to sit up, pretty much dumping Seth next to him. “Italy? You have a chance to go play inItalyfor a semester—”
Shit.“A year.”
“A year!” And at first, Kelly sounded excited, like Seth had when he’d heard that. And then it hit him. “A year?” His voice trailed off.
“I told them no,” Seth explained patiently. “See, San Francisco has been offering me a place, and they’d let me finish my education at San Francisco State, and—”
“And they’re not going to have any more of a hard-on for youafterItaly? Seth!”
“I don’t want to leave you!” Seth argued, the tears threatening again. “Is that so fucking wrong?”
Kelly shook his head and wiped his own eyes with his palm. “No. Baby. No. It’s not wrong. But….” He bit his lip and smiled, crooked, like a broken stick. “I mean, they got rentals in Italy, don’t they?”
“Every weekend in San Francisco,” Seth begged.
“Italy. Seth. This is everything your father ever wanted for you and was afraid to ask. This is everythingIever wanted for you and was afraid to dream about. And here you are,Italyon a platter, and you’re going to throw it away—”
“For you? You bet.”
“Well, I’m not gonna let you! Have you even told your father about this?”
Ugh.“No. Because it’ll be just like Bridgford all over again. And look how goodthatturned out!”
“Yeah, Seth.” Kelly’s voice fell flatly, reminding Seth of every blessing he’d had in the last three years. “Look.”
Seth’s lower lip wobbled. “Don’t you want to be with me?” he asked, empty again. Suddenly, viciously, he wanted Kelly’s cock back in his ass, wanted to be joined, because then it felt like this chasm between them—the chasm between Italy and California—couldn’t ever open up.
“Well, yeah.” Kelly’s broken smile reappeared. “I want to see you in Italy.”
Seth shook his head and made to get off the bed. He could go walking on the beach. Into the water. And never come back.
But Kelly grabbed his hand and tugged. “I’m not ready for you to go yet,” he said, and it sounded like it had more than one meaning.
“I’m not either.” Seth searched his eyes, waiting for the moment of sad rejection, the moment where Kelly would say they should just end it, because he wanted Seth to go away for a year and Kelly couldn’t wait that long.
“We’ll talk about it,” Kelly told him, running his knuckles gently over Seth’s cheekbones. “We’ll think. Baby, someday, I’ll be able to leave. Or you’ll be able to come home. Or we can meet in the middle of the world or something and it will all be okay. But until then, you have to—you havegotto take the things your talent earns you. Don’t you get that?”
