Page 40 of The Locker Room

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window in the late nights, and chat up all the customers. Xander would

work assiduously in the back, making sure they could leave on time, or

even early, as soon as they closed, so that he and Chris could take ten

minutes, even fifteen, downstairs in the changing room to kiss, to hold

hands. To lean into each other, and talk tenderly of the things they"d

seen. Xander didn"t have much to model this behavior after, but Chris

did, and Xander had seen it. Chris"s parents sat together on the couch,

Andi between Jed"s legs and leaning on his chest, and watched movies,

spoke quietly about their day, told stories about the kids, Xander

included.

Later, when Chris and Penny had gone upstairs and Xander was

stretched out on the hide-a-bed (his feet fell over the edge), Xander could

hear their voices, still talking. He"d heard tense conversations, sure, but

never screaming. Never yelling. Never unkind words. Not once, in his

entire two-and-a-half years in their care, did he hear one of them call the

other a “useless cocksucker” or a “fucking twat.” To Xander, all of that

other kindness, the whispered giggles, the furtive (and mortifying)

sounds of lovemaking that came from their closed doors, came from

those stolen moments on the couch, when they got to touch.

He and Chris did their best to capture that. Without talking about it,

they used the Edwards"s as a relationship manual, and did their

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homework as often as time allowed. The feeling of Chris, snugged up

against his chest, talking about their calculus teacher, was all that Xander

asked of heaven—and that would hold true even if Chris didn"t make

him crack up with every story. (Apparently the poor lady was an

unintentional laugh riot. Chris swore he"d never seen a woman trip over

quite so many things in a ten-minute lecture. “And it"s not like any of

that shitmoves,Xan. She just gets so excited aboutmath,of all things,

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