Page 118 of Guitars and Cages

“Yeah, well, I’ve got plenty to say, so we can talk about it here or I can follow you back to your place and we can have this conversation in front of Cole. Your choice.”

I got off the bike and followed him inside because, really, what other choice had he given me?

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Conner paced like the big cats the day Rory and I had visited the zoo, while I stood watching him, looking away whenever he decided to look at me. At one point he paused and opened his mouth as if to say something, and then tossed his hands in the air, pacing more. While he paced, he occasionally slid his hands through his hair, until it was standing up in all different directions. It might have been funny any other time, but right now it was making me nervous.

“I thought I was reckless,” Conner hissed, still pacing. “But you, you’ve cornered the fucking market on reckless!”

I jumped at how loud he yelled, shocked that he was getting so bent out of shape. His hands were clenched into fists and his face was beet red.

“Jesus Christ, Asher!”

He threw his hands in the air, stomping and cursing, until someone banged on the floor beneath his feet with what sounded like a broom handle. I guess he didn’t want old garlic breath coming up, because he stopped being loud then.

“You really want someone to hurt you, don’t you? You hate yourself so much that you don’t care what happens to you. God, I thought you were doing better with that. I thought after we came back from Nebraska you’d ease up on yourself a little, but you haven’t, have you?”

“It’s not that—” I tried to interject, but he was too deep in his tirade.

“I know what a death wish looks like, Asher; I’ve stared one in the face often enough. That’s why I came here—to get away from it all. A new start, a new job, trying to find some damn purpose since my family all but flushed me away. Only I didn’t get away from it. Instead, I met you.”

“I’m...sorry,” I said, looking down.

“Why? I’m not. I’m not fuckin’ sorry I met you at all. I see in you a kindred spirit, someone who might understand why the things that scare others fascinate the hell outta me. I look through my camera and it’s almost like being in the action myself—but you, you stand right in the heart of the hurricane, and you grin and you dare it to strike you down, don’t you? You’re not afraid, because you want it to.”

I couldn’t look at him; I could only whisper, “Yeah.”

“It took me a long time to understand that it took more courage to live than it did to try to die. It was when I realized that fact that I decided to start looking for a job away from home, something where I could have a new start, where I could just be me, without family and nosy gossips judging me. When you got that job at the livery, I thought you had finally figured out the same thing. I guess that’s why I got so upset with you about Alexia. I kept hoping you’d tell Cole to back off—or, better still, tell Cole about you and stop living a lie.”

“I can’t—”

“Oh, you can, but you won’t because it’s hard, and it’s easier to avoid it than face it head-on.”

I started to say something, but again he cut me off.

“Do you know how easy it would have been for Alexia to keep living as a guy, hiding what she wanted to be, sneaking around in padded bras and denying what she truly was? How about after the operation, what about then? She could have chosen to hide herself away and never have anything to do with the rest of your family again, so she wouldn’t have to face your ridicule or judgment. It would have been so easy. Just like it would have been easy for me to keep my mouth shut and never tell my family I was gay. I could have lived a lie, or gone clear across the country and done as I pleased, without them ever knowing why I’d left. But I didn’t, and Alexia didn’t, either.”

I opened my mouth to say something and quickly snapped it shut.

“In the car you told me everyone else knows but Cole, and that’s what I don’t get, why one person is so damned important that you have to be what you think they want you to be, rather than be yourself. Or maybe I can understand it a little better, after seeing what I saw tonight.”

Finally, he pulled the .45 from his pocket and put it in an end-table drawer.

“You, uhh, might wanna unload it first,” I cautioned.

“It’s not loaded.”

“What? Why?”

He stopped pacing, a grimace plastered across his face. “It’s not loaded. I don’t own any bullets.”

“Why the fuck would you buy a gun and not buy bullets?”

“The gun is for a bluff when I need one—like tonight—but sometimes I have a hard time seeing the point in bothering to get up in the morning, and I’m afraid bullets would be too tempting.”

“Wait...what...you? You would never...”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Asher. I’ve thought about it, a lot, and I’ve tried, more than once. I might not have the cuts and scars you do, but I’ve made attempts. Like I said, growing up was pretty lonely, even with a twin. I always felt like I was on the outside looking in, always considered myself a failure. Failure can be a bitter pill to swallow, and when you wake up in the morning and ask yourself who would care if you were gone, and you can’t find an answer, well, I think you know what happens next.”

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