JC's Hitchhiker

 

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CHAPTER 46

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Josh stood on the doorstep, overnight bag in one hand and two bouquets of roses, red and yellow, in the other. Behind him, a taxicab was backing out of the driveway and pulling away. He looked extremely normal, in khakis and a casual shirt, and I smirked when I realized that they were my clothes. Josh smiled sheepishly, as if it were perfectly normal for him to be standing on Carla's doorstep, and his sapphire eyes sparkled. 

"Hey, that's not a present," Carla said, grinning. "It's a singer." 

"Can I come in?" Josh asked, looking back and forth between the two of us. 

"Oh, geez," I said, stepping out of the way. As he walked through the door I flung my arms around him, pulling him inside, and I inhaled deeply, pulling his familiar scent into my head. "Josh, what are you doing here?" 

He let go of me and set his bag down as Carla closed the door, smiling impishly at him. 

"First things first," Josh said, handing her the bouquet of yellow roses. He suddenly sounded so formal. "Carla, I'm Josh, and it's really nice to meet someone that I've heard so much about. I hope you don't mind me dropping in like this." 

"Not at all, since I didn't get to meet you at all last time you were in town," Carla said, carrying her bouquet into the kitchen. She knelt and began rummaging under her sink for a vase. "Jack didn't say you were coming." 

"Jack didn't know he was coming," I said, leaning against the wall with my arms crossed. "As a matter of fact, Jack remembers very specifically explaining to Josh why Josh was supposed to stay in L.A." 

Josh turned, still smiling that innocent, smooth grin that always melted me. I realized that even though I was happy to see him, he still wasn't supposed to be here. I also realized that he looked very boy next door in my clothes, and not his usual mix of whatever claimed to be high fashion. Boy next door was a damn sexy look for him. Wait! What was I thinking? I was supposed to be irritated that he was here. Focus, damn it. 

"Well, there are a few things Jack didn't consider," Josh began. "The first is that these flowers are just for him, from the boy who loves him." 

I took the red roses, still leaning against the wall, as Josh stepped a little closer to me. Carla watched from the kitchen with great amusement. 

"Jack is willing to accept the first item for consideration," I said, grinning. "What else has Jack failed to consider?" 

"Jack has failed to consider that today is a Friday," Josh said, grinning. "Which means that Josh doesn't have to be in the studio until Monday. Jack also did not consider that Josh had time to get out to catch an early flight because Lance and Justin both had appointments this afternoon." 

Thank God the two of them weren't going to the same therapist. That would be an extremely awkward waiting room. 

"Jack sees the valid points that Josh is raising," I said, as Josh leaned in, staring down at me, his hands flat against the wall on either side of my head, his arms rigidly extended. 

"So, is Jack happy to see Josh now?" Josh asked, licking his lips. His tongue darted over them like an animal scurrying out of sight, and I felt myself falling into the wide lakes of his eyes. 

"I believe Jack is," I answered, wrapping my arms around his neck. I pulled his head down, and brought our mouths together, his lips fastening over mine with gentle, silken pressure. His tongue pushed its way into my mouth, and I groaned around it. "Mmmmm." 

A gentle cough from the other side of the room interrupted us. Breaking our kiss, we saw Carla standing next to the sink, her bouquet in a vase on the counter. 

"Carla would like for Jack and Josh to know that she's hungry, and would like dinner," she said, grinning at us. "Carla would also like to request that all parties present cease speaking in the third person." 

"I'm ok with that," I said. 

"So what am I buying you guys for dinner?" Josh asked. 

"I like you already," Carla said, grinning. 

We decided to order Chinese, finally, circling what we wanted on the menu and handing it to Carla. 

"Can we borrow your room?" I asked. 

"For?" Carla asked, eyebrows raised. Josh wore an almost identical expression. 

"Just to talk," I said, holding up my hands. "Pull both your minds out of the gutter." 

"Sorry," they said in unison, blushing and looking at each other. 

"Yeah, feel free," Carla said. "I'll order the food." 

"Thanks," I said, taking Josh's hand. 

I led Josh to Carla's room, and closed the door behind us. As soon as it was shut, Josh grabbed me, wrapping both arms around me, grinding me against his body as he mashed his lips down onto mine. I ran my hands up and down his back, and then through his hair, feeling the muscles on the sides of his head shift as his jaw swung down, giving my tongue wider access to his mouth. I pulled off of him with an audible sound of suction that was both sexy and somehow humorous. 

"God, I missed you," he sighed. "Why do we do this to each other?" 

"Try to smother each other with our tongues?" I asked, grinning, as I walked him toward the bed. We sat on the edge, holding hands. "I mainly do it as a defense mechanism, to get your tongue out of my mouth." 

He laughed, his adam's apple bobbing. I wanted to put my mouth on it. 

"You know what I mean," he said, shaking his head. "Why does it seem like one of us is always flying away from the other? You leave, I leave, you leave, I leave, and the whole time all we do is miss each other. I can barely think when you're gone, and I didn't sleep good last night, either." 

"Neither did I," I admitted. "I guess I'm just used to having you next to me, and when I reach out and the bed's empty it's a shock." 

"Me, too," he said. Suddenly he grinned, but blushed at the same time. "And, you know, I haven't had any nookie for a whole day." 

"It's all about sex. I knew it," I said, smacking his arm. "Josh, I'm trying to be serious, ok? What I wanted to talk to you about is, um, maybe not having that happen anymore. The being apart all the time, not the nookie." 

"What do you mean?" he asked, looking at me earnestly. 

"Josh, do you remember when you first flew out to visit me?" I asked. He nodded. "The second morning you were here, you asked if I would move in with you, and I gave you a big long list of reasons why I shouldn't, and why it wouldn't be good for either one of us. Do you remember that?" 

"Yeah," Josh answered, his voice low. His eyes were huge, impossibly wide, as he looked at me, waiting to hear what I would say next. 

"I asked you if you were ready to tell the whole world you were gay, and bring me to award shows as your date, and tell all the guys and your family that I was your boyfriend," I said, and he nodded, remembering. "And you've done all of that, because you decided that you were ready. The other thing I asked during that discussion was what I would do." 

"You talked about leaving all your friends here, and quitting your job," Josh said, and I nodded. "You didn't think it was a good idea, because we'd both be giving things up, and we barely knew each other." 

"I guess what I'm trying to say now is that we've both changed a lot since that conversation, Josh," I said. Josh squeezed my hand. "And what I want to know is if the offer to move in with you is still open, because I quit my job this afternoon, and I can always just call my friends on the phone, and come visit them. Is the offer still open, Josh? Do you still want me to move in with you?" 

Josh looked at me, and swallowed, hard. Tears were standing in his eyes, and he grabbed me, pressing me against him as he rested his head on my shoulder. 

"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you, Jack. I love you so much." 

"Wait, thank you for what?" I asked, confused. 

"For asking again," Josh answered, pulling back so I could stare into his beautiful eyes again. "Jack, I've wanted to ask you that again every day since I flew out to visit my family. I've wanted to ask you so many times, but it never seemed to be the right time, and I didn't want you to feel pressured. Yes, yes you can move in with me. I want to share my whole life with you, Jack." 

"And I want to share mine with you, too, Josh," I said, kissing him. "You've given up so much for me, and I realized that I just want to be with you. I've never loved anyone like this, Josh." 

"Neither have I," Josh said, smiling. "But why did you quit your job? What happened today?" 

"Can I save that story for dinner?" I asked. "I want Carla to hear it, too." 

"Absolutely," Josh said, kissing me again. "I love you, Jack." 

"I love you, too," I answered. Hand in hand, we rejoined Carla in the living room. 

"Everything fixed, boys?" she asked, grinning. 

"Yeah," I answered, as Josh turned and kissed me on the cheek. 

"Good," Carla said, shaking her head. "Tell you what, then. Jack, why don't you set the table while Josh and I sit here on the couch and get to know each other better?" 

Wondering what I was getting into, I set the table, half listening to them as they chatted away in the living room. The two of them were getting along extremely well, trading stories and laughing, and they barely looked up when the food arrived. Walking past them to get the door, I plucked a bill from Josh's outstretched hand, realizing as I handed it over that and almost thirty dollar tip was rather excessive, but hey, that was Josh. The delivery guy tried to give me change, refusing to believe that I really intended to give him this much, but finally just blurted, "Thank you," as I closed the door to curtail the argument. 

"Let's go, kids," I said, carrying the bag past the couch. "Dinner's ready, and I want my boyfriend back." 

"Jealousy is such an ugly emotion," Carla said, getting up. 

"No need for jealousy, Jack, " Josh said, as we sat down. "Carla doesn't have the right parts." 

"Oh, I'm aware," I said, handing out the containers. 

"So, I've waited all day," Carla said, as soon as we had our food onto our plates. "How did your day go, Jack? And you better not have told Josh already." 

"Nope, we were talking about something else," I said, smiling. Josh grinned, too. "Well, like you said, nothing at my apartment is damaged, other than the window. I left a message for my landlord to call me here, too, so we can figure out who's paying for the damages. I think insurance covers it, though." 

"I'll pay for it," Josh said absently. 

"No, you won't," I said, smiling. "I can handle it. Anyway, after that I went over to the police station." 

"Mayberry?" Carla asked, grinning. "That must have been fun." 

"Yeah, for a second there I thought I was dealing with Clancy Wiggum," I said, snickering. "They weren't really helpful, actually. I don't think they're going to do much, but I'm not really sure there is anything they could do anyway without any witnesses. After that I went over to the school, to talk to Don." 

"Don?" Josh asked. 

"Our principal," Carla explained. "What did he say?" 

"Well, when I came in he told me that he already knew about the petition, and that he'd already talked to the superintendent about it," I began, knowing that Carla wasn't going to take this very well. "He told me that they were prepared to stand behind me, and that they had no intention of removing me or asking me to step down, and that the petition was totally bullshit." 

"Excellent!" Carla said, smiling. 

"And then I resigned," I continued smoothly, reaching for my glass. 

"What? You what?" Carla asked, blinking rapidly. 

"I resigned, effective immediately," I said. Josh reached over and squeezed my hand. 

"But, Jack, why?" Carla asked. "If Don was going to bat for you, why?" 

I sighed, trying to find the words for what I had been feeling all day. 

"Carla, I love you, and you know that, but I don't feel right here anymore," I said. "I don't feel like I belong here anymore, or that anyone here is really who I thought they were. I think you were right last night when you said that people aren't as accepting as I they seemed to be, and now when I drive up and down the streets I just wonder what everyone's thinking, and if they were thinking that all along. Every time I talked to someone today I wondered if they had signed that stupid petition, or if they were going to, or if they knew who spraypainted my house." 

"But Jack, this is like giving up," Carla said. "This is like telling them that what they did was ok. I can't believe you're just going to knuckle under." 

"It's not like that," I protested. "Carla, I don't want to fight. I just want to be with Josh, where I belong. When I was in my apartment today, it just felt like an apartment. It didn't feel like home anymore. Home for me is wherever Josh is, because that's where my heart is. I'm not running away from these people. I'm leaving them behind." 

"But that's not how people are going to see it," Carla said, shaking her head. "They're just going to think they beat you." 

"My friends won't think that, " I said. "And those are the only people whose opinions matter to me. I don't care what everyone else thinks. Besides, as long as I'm with Josh, that sends a message to the whole world, not just the idiots here, that there's nothing wrong with us loving each other." 

"Jack, have you thought this through all the way?" Carla asked. "I mean, where are you going to live? What are you going to do?" 

"Josh has a house in Orlando, " I said. "I'm going to move in with him there, and then I'm going to get a job. Did you think I was going to sponge off Josh?" 

"Well, no, but I knew you sure as hell weren't joining the band," Carla answered, grinning. "You can't sing for shit." 

"Now that sounds like the Carla I know and love," I said, patting her on the shoulder. "So, are you happy for me?" 

"Of course I am," she answered. "I mean, I'm not happy that you're leaving, but I'm happy you and Josh are settling down. Josh, do you have any idea what you're in for?" 

"If it's going to be anything like the last month has been, I don't know if I'll be able to deal with it," Josh said, grinning at me. 

"Jerk," I said, smacking his arm. 

"I love it when you call me pet names," Josh said, batting his eyes at me. 

"So, what exactly are you going to do?" Carla asked, snapping us both back to reality. 

We spent the rest of dinner figuring out exactly what my plans should be. Josh was going to fly back on Sunday morning, since he needed to be in the studio again on Monday, but I was going to stay here until Wednesday. On Monday I'd go in and clean out my office at school and tell my friends there that I was leaving, and then on Tuesday I would have movers in to pack my stuff up and take it to Josh's house in Florida. We weren't sure of what we would keep or not, but Josh said we could just put the rest in storage, or build a guesthouse, or something. Josh insisted on paying for the moving expenses, and wouldn't accept any arguing about it. Carla was worried that my landlord wouldn't want to break my lease, but I decided to offer to pay for the repairs from the vandalism if he would let me out of it. The fact that I was moving would doubtlessly be noticed and reported, at least around town, so that would probably protect the building from further incidents. When the arrangements for that were taken care of I would fly back to Los Angeles on Wednesday, and stay there with Josh until the whole group went back to Orlando, where I would look for a job. 

After dinner, we cleaned everything up, the three of us practically tripping over each other in Carla's tiny kitchen, and then we settled in on the living room couch to watch movies. Eventually we all started nodding off, and Carla bid us a good night and went back to her room, leaving us in the living room. We'd been cuddling on the couch all night, and had to pull ourselves up to pull it open and start making the bed. When we got that done, we ran in the bathroom and brushed our teeth, both of us struggling to fit in there, too. Walking to the living room, we stripped down to our underwear and climbed into bed, me spooning back against Josh. I felt his hard cock pressing against me, and I wiggled my ass against him, giggling. 

"Stop it," he whispered, kissing the back of my neck. "We can't do that, so there's no point getting yourself worked up." 

"Getting myself worked up?" I asked. "I'm not the one with a stiffie, Josh." 

His hand dropped to the front of my boxers, kneading my basket. 

"Oh really?" he asked. "This certainly feels like a stiffie to me." 

Both of us giggled over the word "stiffie", like little kids. 

"So if I'm hard, and you're hard, why can't we do anything?" I asked, turning around so that we were facing each other. I let my hands run up and down Josh's sides as his stayed in my crotch, feeling my cock through my boxers, not stroking, just moving around. 

"Because Carla will hear us, " Josh whispered, his hand sending a completely different message from the one his mouth was. 

"We could be really quiet," I whispered, dropping my hand down to feel his cock through his boxer briefs. I began to gently stroke him, not wanting the cotton to chafe. 

"We've never been really quiet," Josh whispered, giggling. His hand was now stroking my cock as well. "I don't think we can." 

"Maybe you're just not trying hard enough," I said, sliding my hand inside the flap of his boxer briefs. I felt his warm, hard shaft jump toward my fingers, and I wrapped my hand around it, rolling my palm over the top of his sticky head. "I bet you could be really quiet, given the right incentive." 

Before he could say anything I ducked my head below the sheet, trailing my face down the velvety smooth ripples of his torso, pulling his boxer briefs down as I went. By the time my face got down to his groin I had slid the briefs off completely, and his cock was just a dark, curving shape in front of my face. I flicked my tongue out, slurping up a salty drop of precum from his slit, and his hips lurched upward so hard I thought he might jump off the bed. 

"Jack!" he sighed urgently. 

"Shhhhhhhh," I breathed against his cock. 

He let out a quiet sigh as my tongue flicked out again, and then I heard him inhale sharply as I rolled my lips down over his cockhead, feeling it slide smoothly over my tongue as it pushed toward the back of my throat. His shaft throbbed in my mouth, the thick vein on the underside pulsing against my tongue as I bobbed slowly up and down on him. Josh's hands were tangled in my hair, and he continued to sigh above me, doing his best to muffle them. I pulled back until just his head was in my mouth, and I rolled my tongue around it while sucking lightly, finally rewarded by the sound of him groaning. To his credit, he tried to strangle it, but I pulled off of him with a kissing, sucking noise, flicking my tongue over his head one last time before sliding back up his heaving, panting chest. 

"You're right," I whispered, kissing him. "We shouldn't do this, 'cause you just can't be quiet." 

"Like you'll do any better," he whispered, grabbing my shoulders and rolling me roughly onto my back. 

Josh slid down below the sheet, pulling my boxers off in much the same fashion that I'd stripped him. I lifted my ass, so he could slide them down over it, and he swallowed me whole. Where I had gone for a slow, teasing approach, Josh went all out, pulling my cock into his mouth, pressing his lips around it, bobbing up and down as he sucked, hard, on me. I tried to keep quiet, twining my fingers through his hair, but the more I tried the faster he went, washing his tongue across my shaft as he sucked me in, his hands running up and down my torso, twisting at my nipples, tugging at my balls. I let out a little strangled yelp as he pinched one of my nipples especially sharply, and he slid back up the bed, too, his cock grinding against mine as he kissed me. 

"Gee, Jack, you're right," Josh panted, nibbling at the side of my face. "Neither one of us can be quiet. We better stop." 

"Not so fast," I whispered, clamping my hands onto his ass before he could slide off of me. My cock throbbed against his as they lay trapped between our bodies. "Slide down the bed a little." 

"OK," Josh whispered, scooting down. I pulled away from him and dived beneath the covers again, turning myself. "Jack, what are you doing?" 

"Roll onto your side," I whispered, reversing myself beneath the sheet. "Maybe we'd be quieter if we both had something in our mouths." 

"I get it," Josh smiled, grabbing my legs to keep me from kicking him in the face. "We've never done this." 

"First time for everything," I sighed as we pulled ourselves closer. "Oh, there you are." 

I leaned forward, licking at his cock again, washing my tongue up and down the shaft. He sighed, and then I felt his tongue running along the ridge under my cockhead as he tried to mirror what I was doing. Josh began to lap at my balls, pushing them around with his tongue, as I rolled my lips down over his soft, spongy cockhead. It pushed my lips open wide as I began to slowly slide his shaft in and out of my mouth, not taking the whole thing yet. Josh sighed above me, an almost whining, high-pitched yelp of a sigh, and then seemed to remember that my cock was right there in his face. Ignoring my balls, he began to lap at my cock, pressing down with his tongue as he ran it up and down the shaft, and over the head. 

I ran my hands up and down his thighs, feeling the muscles bunch and shift as he tried to move his hips a little, pushing himself closer to my willing mouth. The hair on his thighs brushed against my palms as I let more of his shaft slide through my pursed lips. Above me, he moaned around my cock, bobbing all the way down on it in that all or nothing way that he had. I groaned around him as well, feeling how wet and hot his mouth was as his wet, sandpapery tongue rubbed and slid over my shaft, caressing it inside the moist heat of his mouth. At this angle, his cock practically slid down my throat, and I sucked it in greedily, nursing on it. 

Both of us were panting and sweating at the same time, our torsos flexing against each other as our lungs expanded, the bed squeaking a little as we pulled each other closer. I pulled off of Josh, letting his cock slide out of my mouth, and then began to lick it again, attacking it with short, hard jabs of my tongue. He responded by moaning around my cock again, and then began to suck on my cock even faster, just letting it slide over his tongue as he bobbed up and down, my hips thrusting toward them as his head met my strokes. Without warning I felt one of his hands sliding between my ass cheeks, and then he jammed a finger all the way inside me, smashing it against my prostate. I grunted, sucking his cock back into my mouth to muffle me, and began to shoot, hard, down his throat. 

As I jerked against him, my moans all but silent, I let his cock rest in my mouth, throbbing against my tongue. When my orgasm finally stopped washing over me I realized he hadn't cum yet, and I began to suck at him again, hard and fast, flicking my tongue over his head when I pulled back, rolling my lips in a tight circle down his shaft as they slid up and down it. My cock, now super-sensitive, was still in his mouth, and he was panting and sighing around it, his hands digging into the back of my things as he held onto me. I grabbed his balls with both hands, tugging and squeezing at the same time, and he moaned convulsively around my cock as his whole body went rigid and he filled my mouth with hot, salty cum. I kept swallowing until he was finished, and then I pulled off, releasing him as, panting, he did the same to me. I rotated myself up the bed again, and found my face just inches from his. 

Josh smiled at me, his eyes sparkling as they caught a tiny flash of light from the street. 

"I love you," he whispered, leaning forward to kiss me. 

"I love you, too," I whispered back. I pressed his boxer briefs into his hand as his tongue crawled around the inside of my mouth. "Here, put these back on." 

"Why?" he whispered, leaning forward to kiss me again. 

"Because Carla might wake up before us," I answered, finally finding my own boxers in the tangle of sheets. I slid them on as Josh did the same, and then I rolled over, snuggling back against him as he spooned me. 

"I'm not surprised you didn't sleep good last night," Josh whispered. "This mattress sucks." 

"I'll sleep a lot better now that you're here," I whispered. 

"I know what you mean," Josh whispered, pulling the sheet up over us. 

"Oh, Josh, I forgot to tell you," I began, listening to the pause in his breathing as he waited. "You look damn sexy in my clothes." 

"Thanks," he whispered. "I didn't think you'd mind. You can wear mine, too, if you want to, you know." 

"I know," I whispered, feeling his pecs press into my back as he kissed my shoulder. "Can I wear those pants from the 'This I Promise You' video? The ones with the deer's ass printed all over them?" 

"Shut up," he chuckled against me. 

"What about that puppet costume you wore on tour?" I asked, giggling. "Can I borrow that for my job interviews?" 

"Go to sleep," he answered, hugging me tightly against him. "And that wasn't a deer's ass." 

"Sure it wasn't," I agreed sarcastically. 

"Just go to sleep!" he hissed. 

Giggling softly, I finally did, wrapped in Josh's arms. 

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CHAPTER 47

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Lance lay curled on his side on his bed, staring at the wall. The wall wasn't particularly exciting, mind you. It was actually blank, and completely flat. Featureless. There weren't any pictures, cracks, or nails. You couldn't even see where the paint had been applied, no brushstrokes, and the wall had no gloss, either. It was just flat, white, and smooth, utterly flawless. The window was in the adjacent wall, and the sunlight never fell on this wall. Shadows never moved across it. The wall was pristine, completely without mistakes. 

The way Lance wished he was. 

He didn't have to stare at the wall, of course, but it seemed like a really good way to spend Saturday. Staring at it had kept him occupied for most of Friday night, although Friday night his cell phone had kept ringing and ringing and ringing, but then, finally, it had stopped, and Lance had shut it off. He hadn't turned it back on this morning, hadn't listened to the voicemail, because he knew who the messages would be from, and he didn't want to hear that voice, didn't want to hear that confusion, that concern, that hurt that he had caused. 

Lance wouldn't answer the phone because he knew that it was Howie calling. 

Howie had called before Lance was even home from the hotel on Thursday, but Lance had shut the phone off then, too. Thursday night he had cried himself to sleep, thinking about how badly he had treated Howie. He had hurt him, not because he wanted to, but because he couldn't help it. Because he hurt everything. Because he was a bad person, and there wasn't anything else he could do but hurt people. 

On Friday morning he had woken up and picked up the phone. Turning it on, he was thankful that it didn't ring in his hand, which he had been morbidly afraid that it would. Instead, there had been a string of voice messages, left well into the night. 

"Lance. Lance, please call me back. Lance, I'm sorry. I know you're upset, and I'm sorry. Please, please, just call me." 

The next one was left twenty minutes later. 

"Lance, I know that I, that, you know, what I did was wrong. I'm sorry if I upset you, but, I don't know, I thought that you were, that maybe you might be, I guess, interested. Look, Lance, I can't say this like this. Please, Lance, please just call me." 

Twenty minutes later there was another. 

"Lance, please don't shut me out. Please just let me explain, please. At least let me know you got home ok." 

Barely ten minutes after Howie left the last message of the night. 

"Lance, please, please just call me. I don't want to bother you any more tonight, but I just, I wish you would let me explain. I'm just, I'm sorry, Lance, ok? I'm sorry." 

By the last message, Howie's voice had dropped almost to a whisper. Lance wasn't sure, but he thought Howie might have been crying. He wasn't sure because he'd been in tears at that point, holding the phone, rocking back and forth on his bed as he listened to one message after another. How could he have done such a thing? How could he have done that to Howie, just shoved him away and run out of the room? What was wrong with him? What kind of a person was he to do that to someone? 

Wait, he knew the answer to that one. He was bad. He was dirty. He was pathetic. He was a hypocrite. He didn't deserve someone like Howie. Howie was good, and sweet, and kind. Howie was special, and deserved someone who was special, someone who was pure. 

Not someone like Lance. 

After he had listened to the voice messages, Lance decided to go get in the shower again, because he had to meet up with the other guys soon so that they could leave for the studio. He turned on the water, waiting for it to warm up, and then turned the dial further, making the shower even hotter, watching as the bathroom filled with steam. He flinched when he got in the shower, feeling the water sting his skin, almost scalding him, but he needed it that way, needed to be clean. He could feel that stain under his skin again, that dirty part of him, that thing that was wrong inside of him, and he just wanted to scrub it away, scrub and scrub and scrub at it until it was gone. He grabbed the washcloth and began to rub it harshly over his skin, wincing, realizing that he was still tender from last night, but he didn't care. He just wanted to be clean, to wash everything inside him away. 

He didn't know how long he was in the shower, just scrubbing, soaping up the washcloth, and scrubbing again. His skin, pale and white, had reddened angrily, and it tingled and stung beneath the water. His fingers were wrinkled, and he had washed his hair three times, pulling roughly at it, feeling his scalp burn as he gouged it with his short fingernails. He could barely breathe in the steam, but he just kept washing and washing, trying to wash away the memory of Howie's wide eyes, or his voice, crying into Lance's phone. He jerked his head up, hearing someone pounding on his bathroom door. 

"Lansten! Yo, Lance!" Chris yelled through the door. "Out of the shower! It's time to go!" 

"I, I'm sorry, Chris," Lance said quickly, rinsing the soap off again. He shut the water off. "I'll be right out, ok?" 

"I'll be out in the courtyard," Chris said. "The other guys left already, but you can ride with me." 

"Yeah, ok, I'll be right out, " Lance said, grabbing a towel. 

Lance winced as the towel scraped over his skin. The soft terrycloth felt like it was made of sandpaper. It rasped over his skin like a brillo pad, but Lance kept drying himself. He flinched a little, but didn't stop. He deserved to be in pain, because he caused so much pain to others. No sin ever went unpunished, even if he had to punish himself. Combing his hair quickly, he went to the bedroom and began to get dressed. Noticing that all of his skin was pink, he realized that he must have scalded himself in the shower. His entire body felt like he had a sunburn, and he realized that if the guys saw that his arms were all red, they'd be sure to ask, so he pulled on a long sleeved shirt, feeling it scrape against him like the towel had. 

What was he doing to himself? 

It didn't matter. 

Chris was waiting for him out in the courtyard, sitting on one of the lounge chairs, tossing his keys up in the air and catching them. When he saw Lance, he grinned, his eyes dancing behind his odd yellow sunglasses, but then it seemed to slip a little. 

"Finally!" he said, walking toward the parking lot. "You get a little sun or something, bud? Your head's a little pink." 

"Yeah, something like that," Lance said quietly, looking away, hoping that Chris would just drop it, and not push like he sometimes did. Lance knew that Chris meant well, but sometimes he just kept asking and pushing, even if it was clear you didn't want him to. 

They got in the car and began driving toward the studio. 

"So, I was a little surprised to see Howie here last night," Chris began, grinning. "What's up with that?" 

Lance looked over, trying to read Chris's face. He didn't seem angry, or nosy. He was just smiling, like a buddy, like a friend just making small talk. Lance shook his head, wondering why he would think that Chris was anything else. Chris wasn't Justin, and never had been. Chris was his friend. Lance would probably hurt him someday, too. 

"Nothing," Lance answered evasively. "We just went to a movie." 

"Really?" Chris asked, not seeming to notice the way Lance looked away. "Because, you know, I could have sworn that you and Mr. Howie D went out to dinner the night before, too." 

"Yeah, we did," Lance answered, not wanting to talk about this, feeling like he might start crying right there in Chris's Jeep. 

"You two looked kind of, you know, chummy," Chris said, grinning. "I mean, Howie looked damn happy to see you, and you looked pretty excited, too. There anything going on that you want to share with the rest of the class, Lance?" 

"No," Lance answered. 

"Come on, Scoop, are you sure?" Chris asked, grinning. "Are you sure there isn't anything going on with you and Howie D? Because it would be great if there was." 

"No!" Lance burst, wondering why Chris couldn't have just left this alone. "No, there isn't anything going on, ok? Nothing!" 

Chris was staring at Lance, his mouth hanging open in shock, as Lance struggled not to cry. Chris steered the Jeep into the parking lot of the studio, parked it, and shut it off, unsure of what else he should do. 

"Lance?" he asked quietly, wondering if he should put a hand on Lance's shoulder. JC and Jack had warned him not to touch Lance if he was upset, because he might be thinking about Justin, and it might just upset him more, so Chris just sat uncomfortably in his seat, wishing he could help. "Lance, I didn't mean to push. Are you ok?" 

"I'm fine!" Lance said, wiping at his eyes with his shirtsleeve. He reached for the door handle, and heard Chris hit the power locks, sealing them in the car. 

"Lance, did something, did Howie do something?" Chris asked quietly. If he had, he'd drop Lance off, and then go find Howie and kill him. Lance had been hurt enough while none of them had been paying attention, and he was damned if he was going to let that happen again. 

"No," Lance answered, reaching out for Chris's hand as he began to cry. Hot tears, tears he had fought not to shed, began to leak from his eyes. "Howie didn't do anything. I, I don't want to talk about it, Chris. I can't." 

Chris squeezed Lance's hand. 

"Lance, you can't hold it all inside, either," Chris said. "Lance, I'm here for you. We're all here for you. Don't push us away." 

"I'm sorry," Lance said, swiping at his eyes again. "I just, I, something happened." 

"Between you and Howie?" Chris asked, trying to put all this together. One minute he'd been asking a simple question, and now he had Lance crying all over his seats. "Lance, do you, um, do you like Howie?" 

"Yes," Lance whispered. 

"Does Howie not like you?" Chris asked, still holding Lance's hand. Chris had only talked to Howie a few times, but he got a definite gay vibe off of him. Granted, he'd also heard Howie was into guys, but you heard things about everyone. "Did he say something, or did you?" 

"Chris, I just, I don't want to talk about it," Lance said, but then started talking about it anyway. "He didn't say anything, but I, um, I hurt him." 

"And he's mad?" Chris asked. "He doesn't understand?" 

"No, he's not mad," Lance answered, shaking his head. "But he doesn't understand, and I don't want to hurt him any more." 

Chris wasn't sure what he should say. He looked around the parking lot, and saw Justin's Mercedes and Joey's Beamer, which Joey and Josh had ridden over in. Checking the dashboard clock, he realized they only had a couple more minutes before someone came out to look for them. 

"Lance," Chris began, but then Lance looked up at him, his green eyes huge suddenly. 

"Chris, I, I need to tell you something," Lance whispered. "Chris, I'm gay." 

It was on the tip of Chris's tongue to say, "Yes, we know," but he realized that they didn't know. They knew that Justin had humiliated and abused him, and they knew exactly how, but never once had Lance actually said that he was gay. They all just kind of assumed that he must be. Chris realized that Lance must still be coming to terms with it, and that he might very well be the first person Lance had told. 

"Gay, Chris, I'm gay," Lance said, not pausing. "I'm a homosexual. I'm a fairy. I'm, I'm bad." 

"Whoa," Chris said, holding up his hands. "Whoa, Lance, you're not a fairy, and there's nothing wrong with you. You're not bad, Lance." 

"I am," Lance said, shaking his head. "I hurt people." 

"What?" Chris asked. Lance wasn't capable of hurting a bug. He didn't even step on spiders. "Lance, whatever you think you did, I'm sure it wasn't on purpose, was it?" 

"I hurt Jack and JC," Lance said, shaking his head. 

"Lance, Jack and JC aren't mad at you for that," Chris said, shaking his head as well. "You know that. And you only did that because you were confused, and because you were scared. You wouldn't go and hurt them now, would you?" 

"Not on purpose," Lance said, shaking his head. 

"Exactly," Chris agreed. "And whatever happened between you and Howie, you didn't do that on purpose either, did you?" 

"No," Lance said, his tears finally leveling off. 

"Maybe you should talk to him," Chris suggested, glad that Lance seemed to be settling down. 

"No, I can't!" Lance yelped, panicky. He couldn't talk to Howie, not now, not after what he'd done. Why would Howie even want to talk to him? 

"OK, ok, calm down!" Chris said quickly. "Lance, don't you have an appointment with your doctor this afternoon?" 

"Yes," Lance answered. 

"Why don't you ask him what he thinks?" Chris suggested. The doctor was much less likely to cause Lance permanent psychological harm than he was. "Maybe, you know, maybe he'll even have a better idea." 

"Yeah, maybe," Lance agreed, shrugging. "I, thank you, Chris. Thank you for not hating me." 

"Lance, I wouldn't ever hate you, not for anything," Chris said, shaking his head. "I don't care if you're gay. It gives me a better shot at groupies." 

He grinned, but the best Lance could do was a weak chuckle. Hey, it was better than nothing. 

Lance followed Chris inside, where the other guys were already waiting. Justin was standing off to the side, and barely looked up as they walked in. Joey and Josh turned toward them. 

"Geez, where were you guys?" Joey asked. 

"Car trouble," Chris answered firmly, his tone daring any of them to question him. They looked at Lance's face, obviously realizing that he had been crying, and wisely let it drop. 

They worked all morning, laying down vocals, singing the same lines over and over, sometimes with the music, sometimes without. Sometimes all five of them were in the room, and sometimes they were all in individual rooms. They worked on the same song for the entire morning. It was one of the ones that Josh was acting as producer for, and he was a notorious perfectionist. Lance shook his head, smiling, thinking about it. Everything in Josh's apartment was always just so, in its proper place, and Lance wondered how Jack could possibly put up with it. Then again, that must be what love is all about. It didn't help the guys any, though, when Josh wanted them to sing this part again, or to hit this note a little differently, or try it with just Chris and Joey singing it, or just Joey and Lance this time. 

They knew it would all be worth it, because he had done a damn good job on the last album, but sometimes they just wanted to grab him and shake him. Lance had never been so happy to break for lunch in his life when Josh told them to grab their stuff and meet in the lobby. He started to walk toward his dressing room, but Josh grabbed his sleeve. 

"Lance, can I see you for a second before lunch?" Josh asked. 

"Sure," Lance said, wondering what he'd done now. He knew he'd been a little off today, but he had tried really hard not to let it get in the way, and he didn't think anyone had noticed. 

"Lance, I wanted to ask you something about lunch," Josh began, looking down, shifting from foot to foot as if uncomfortable. Lance wondered what was wrong. If they were all going to lunch together, why would he need to see Lance separately? "I've been thinking about, um, about something that Jack and I talked about, and I didn't want to do this without asking you first, but I want to, you know, I want to ask Justin to come to lunch with us." 

Lance didn't say anything. He was too surprised to say anything, actually, but Josh just kept babbling away, not sure how to interpret his silence. 

"I mean, we did agree to let him stay in the band, and I know you don't trust him, and I don't either, but we do have to be around him," Josh said quickly. "I mean, we're gonna tour again, and we'll have to see him every day, and if we're going to let him be in the group we're going to have to be around him." 

"I don't know," Lance began, looking away. 

"And we're never going to be able to forgive him otherwise," Josh said quietly. Lance jerked his head up in surprise. "I know that he hurt you, and he hurt me, too, but Lance, once Justin was our friend. And if, you know, if he really is sorry, if he really does regret what he's done, and wants to make it right, we'll never know if we keep pushing him away. Lance, you and I were both raised to forgive other people, and I know it's hard, especially if someone hurts you, but I think we have to try. If we don't, then we've not only let him hurt us, we've let him take away part of who we are, and I don't want to give him that, too. He's taken too much already." 

Lance thought about this, and he knew that Josh was right, but it was still hard for him to see Justin. He wanted to say yes, but the words wouldn't seem to come out. 

"Lance, I won't ask him if you don't want me to," Josh said quietly, waiting. "I know Joey and Chris will go along with it if you and I are ok with it, but I don't want to force you into anything you're not comfortable with." 

"OK," Lance answered quietly. "OK, you can ask him." 

Justin agreed to go, visibly surprised that he'd been invited, and the five of them had a quiet meal at a pizza place near the studio. The others didn't really talk to him, but at least he was there. Lance found himself from time to time glancing at Justin, but every time he looked at him he just saw him in other ways. Justin's face might be neutral now, but Lance only saw it as he had before, leering down from above him, smiling cruelly, pushing his head down. Each time he thought of it he felt his lunch rising up in him, and had to fight to keep it down. After lunch they all split up, Joey leaving to take Josh to the airport, Justin going by himself to his own car, and Chris driving Lance back to the apartments, so that he could pick up his car and go to his appointment. 

"Lance, are you ok?" Chris asked as they pulled in. "I mean, with Justin being at lunch?" 

"I think so," Lance said. "No one talks to him, Chris." 

"To Justin?" Chris asked, surprised that Lance even cared. "I don't think any of us know what to say." 

"I know, but no one talks to him, and he doesn't talk to us, either," Lance said, surprised himself that he cared. Did he still want to be Justin's friend? Is that what he felt? "When he leaves, nobody says goodbye. No one asks where he's going. It's like he's not even there." 

"I guess that's good for you, though, right?" Chris asked uncertainly. 

"I guess," Lance answered, getting out of the car. 

"Call me if you need me, ok?" Chris called. 

"Sure, thanks," Lance said, climbing into his own car. 

As always, he felt better after his appointment, but also more confused. They talked about the showers he had taken, and how it had made him feel to hurt himself, and Lance agreed that he shouldn't do that. They talked for a long time about what he had told Chris, and how he had felt about it. Lance felt good knowing that his friends would accept him, and agreed that he should tell the rest of them, but that he should do it when he felt comfortable. Like everything else, it could wait. They also talked about Howie, and what had happened, and how it was all tangled up with what had happened with Justin. Dr. Centano had a way of dragging ideas out of Lance, of making him come up with his own solutions, but Lance didn't want to act on either one he thought up, even if he did agree that they were good ideas. 

The first was that he try to explain to Howie what had happened, and why he had pushed him away. Lance realized while he was talking that he did care about Howie, and that he could even be attracted to him. He knew that he couldn't leave Howie thinking it had been his own fault somehow, but he was afraid to tell him the rest. He was afraid that Howie would push him away if he knew what Lance had let Justin do to him. How could Howie want someone who had been used like that? Why would Howie want someone who would let that happen to him? 

The other idea he had thought of was confronting Justin, telling Justin how much he had hurt him, and demanding finally just to know why. Justin had explained in front of everyone that he had been mad, and had wanted to hurt Lance, and that it had just gone too far, but that wasn't what Lance wanted to know. He wanted to know why Justin had picked that way to do it. Justin could have gotten back at him in a thousand other ways, but why had he picked that one? How had he known? Lance was too afraid to ask him, though. He wasn't afraid of Justin's answer, whatever it might be. He was more afraid that once he was in a room with Justin, alone with Justin, that this pretense of being sorry, that this whole act that Justin was putting on, would all just fall away. He was afraid that if he was alone with Justin, Justin would do it again. 

And Lance was most afraid that he would still like it. 

That was how he had ended his day on Friday. He had come home from his appointment, eaten dinner, and then curled up on his bed, wishing it would all go away. The phone had rung a few times, but he switched it off, refusing to listen. He just lay on his bed, staring at the wall, trying not to think about anything while thoughts of everything ran through his brain like a freight train. Every time he shut them out, they just kept barreling through, playing behind his eyes like a movie. When he opened his eyes, they went away, and he was left staring at the bedroom wall. 

When he woke up on Saturday morning, he was still watching the wall. He got up at midday, took a shower, and ate lunch, but then went back to the bed, to curl up again, and try not to think anymore. It began to get dark out, and finally he rolled over and looked at the nightstand. Still lying where he left them was the strip of pictures, of him and Howie. He thought again about how happy they looked, how excited, how together. Even if he had nothing else when this was over, he'd still have that, still have that one night when everything was ok. Next to the pictures was his phone, and Lance reached over and picked it up. Switching it on, he saw that there were two messages. 

The first message was from Jack and Josh. 

"Hey Lance, it's Jack, and that's Josh you hear yelling behind me. It's lunchtime here, so I'm betting you're not even up yet, or else you're watching cartoons or something. Anyway, Josh said you looked kind of down yesterday, and I just wanted to call and make sure you were ok, and let you know that you can call me if you need anything. Josh is gonna be back tomorrow, but I won't be back until Wednesday. Please call either one of us if you need us, and, I guess I hope you were just having an off day or something, ok? I miss you. Bye!" 

Lance smiled. He missed them, too, even if they were being excessively concerned and overprotective. He should have asked Dr. Centano how to get his friends to back off, but he didn't want to appear ungrateful for all the help they'd given him. 

The second message was from Howie. His voice was very low, and quiet, but at least he didn't sound like he was crying. 

"Lance, it's Howie again. I know you didn't call me back, and you probably don't want to talk to me, but I hope you can at least listen to this message before you hang up or erase it. I wanted to call again and say that I'm sorry I tried to kiss you the other night. I'm sorry I misread you, and that I let myself hope that I saw something that wasn't really there. I just wanted to say, too, though, that I really have enjoyed spending time with you, and I would really enjoy being your friend, if you'd still let me. I understand if you don't want to, or if that would make you feel weird, or if you don't feel comfortable around me anymore. I just really felt like we had this, like, bond, like we were close, and I'm sorry that I made a mistake and got in the way of that. If you want to call me back, please do. If not, I at least want to thank you for listening to all of this, and for being my friend, even if it only was for a little while. I'm sorry, again, and good bye." 

Lance didn't realize that he was crying until he took the phone away from his ear. The message had only been sent a half hour ago, and Lance wondered if Howie had stayed up rehearsing it, trying to figure out what to say. Lance felt something inside himself breaking, felt something letting go, as he realized that Howie thought it was something he had done, and was blaming himself. Not only that, but Howie felt something. Howie felt something with him, and had hoped that Lance felt it, too. His fingers trembling, Lance dialed Howie's number, and waited, his heart pounding. 

"Hello? This is Howie." 

"Howie, it's Lance," he said quickly, pushing the words out. "I need to talk to you." 

"Lance, I've been waiting, I've been hoping you'd call," Howie said. "I'm sorry, Lance, I'm so, so sorry. I just." 

Lance cut him off. If Howie kept talking, he'd never be able to say anything. 

"Howie, I need to talk to you in person," Lance said. "I want to, um, I want to see you. Is there someplace we can meet?" 

Howie sighed. 

"Do you want to come over here?" Howie asked. "If you don't, we could meet at the restaurant downstairs, or anywhere else. It doesn't matter to me." 

"No, I'll," Lance began, and something caught in his throat. "I'll come over there. Right now." 

"OK," Howie said. 

Lance hung up the phone and grabbed his car keys. 

---

CHAPTER 48

---

Lance's heart was pounding as he drove to Howie's hotel, wondering the whole way if he was doing the right thing, convincing himself at every turn in the road and every stoplight not to give up, not to go back to his apartment. He had to do this, had to go talk to Howie. He had to make up for the hurt he'd caused, had to let Howie know that none of it had been his fault, if for no other reason than to set Howie free, so that he could go find someone else, someone worthy of his love, someone pure. Lance pulled in at the hotel, handing his keys to the valet, and walked quickly toward the elevators. His heart was racing, and he could feel sweat breaking out on his forehead, but he had to do this. He had to go upstairs. If even one person said something to him, or the elevator hadn't shown up as soon as he hit the button, he might have turned back, he might have given up and walked away. That's how close he was, how torn and unsure. 

Fear drove him, fear pushed him toward Howie's room. He was afraid that his rejection might cause Howie to punish himself in some way, to blame himself, maybe even to hate himself. He was afraid that his rejection might somehow dim that light in Howie's eyes, the sparkle in his smile, dim it or even extinguish it entirely. More than that, though, Lance was afraid that Howie might be his only chance. Howie might be the only person who could ever love him and understand him. Howie might be the only person who could redeem him, and make him feel like he really did matter, like he really was a normal person. Howie might be the only person who could make him feel like he was worthy of being loved, and Lance was afraid of throwing that away. 

While fear drove him toward Howie's room, fear also pushed him away, whispered to him that he needed to go back down to his car right now and drive away. He was afraid that Howie wouldn't understand anything, that he wouldn't even want to understand. He was afraid that he would try to explain, and that Howie's face would twist with disgust and revulsion, that Howie would never want someone like him, someone who had let things happen to him, had practically invited them to. Howie would never want someone so dirty, so stained, when he could have anyone else. Even worse, though, Lance was afraid of the same thing he had feared the other night, that he would tell Howie, would explain everything to Howie, and that Howie would smile, and stand up, and undo his pants, and that Lance would let him. He was afraid, in the bottom of his heart, that Howie would be just like Justin, and that somehow his heart recognized this. He was afraid that somehow he knew that Howie would treat him the exact same way, and that it would be the real reason why he was attracted to Howie. And he was afraid that he would like it again. 

Inside Lance, these fears were perfectly equal. They were balanced against each other, and if they were weighed on a scale it would be exactly level. The only thing that pushed him onward, that kept his feet moving, was a nagging voice inside him that told him that, either way, he had to know. He must do this, must find out which half of him was right, before this consumed him. 

Lance stood in front of Howie's door. No sound came from inside, and the hallway was completely empty. Willing his hand to stop trembling, to not shake like that, he raised it, and knocked, just once. Howie pulled the door open, and stood in the doorway, facing Lance. 

"Hi," Howie breathed softly. 

Howie was clutching the side of the door uncertainly, trying to read the expression on Lance's face. His own was twisted anxiously, even though he was trying to keep it neutral. Lance noticed that Howie's brown eyes were enormous, but red rimmed, and that Howie's collar was a little wet, as if he had just washed his face. Howie looked smaller somehow, less sure of himself, as he stood waiting at the threshold. 

"Hi," Lance said, his voice squeaking a little. "Can I come in?" 

"If you want to," Howie said, stepping aside to let Lance enter. 

Lance walked in and looked around, unsure of where to rest his eyes. He didn't want to look at Howie, not yet. As soon as he had seen him in the doorway his resolve had begun to crumble, his fear of rejection to overwhelm him, and he was worried that if he looked up again that he would be so afraid of seeing the wrong thing in Howie's eyes that he wouldn't be able to say anything at all. 

"Do you mind if I sit down?" Lance asked, staring at the couch, the same couch he had pushed Howie away on. 

"No, not at all," Howie answered quietly, shutting the door. He waited until Lance sat, and then sat in one of the chairs opposite him. He watched as Lance glanced at his hands, and then at the carpet, anywhere but at him. "I'm glad you came." 

"I had to," Lance said. Howie had to strain to hear him, but Lance swallowed, hard, and then got a little louder. "I couldn't just leave things between us." 

"I don't want to leave things between us like that, either," Howie agreed. He took a deep breath. "Lance, I want to say again that I, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for what happened." 

"No," Lance said quietly. Howie jerked to a stop, as if Lance had unplugged him. "Don't say that, Howie, don't ever say that, please. Don't ever be sorry for what happened." 

"Lance, I don't understand," Howie said, shaking his head. He felt a tear spilling out of his eye, trickling down his cheek. 

"I know," Lance said, still looking at his hands. "I know you don't understand, and that's my fault. This is all my fault." 

"No it isn't," Howie said quickly, wringing his hands nervously. "I should never have kissed you like that, never." 

"Yes you should have," Lance interjected. Howie jerked to a stop again. 

"What?" he asked quietly, almost whispering. 

"You should have kissed me," Lance said. "I wanted you to, I was hoping you would, I wanted you to kiss me more than I wanted anything." 

Howie stared at Lance, wondering why Lance wouldn't look at him, even as he tried to make sense of what Lance had just said. Even though Lance had repeated it, Howie wondered if he had heard correctly, if Lance had really just said that he wanted Howie to kiss him. 

"But you," Howie began, shaking his head. 

"I pushed you away," Lance finished. "I pushed you away, and I hurt you, and you want to know why. None of this is your fault, Howie, none of it, and I'm sorry, more than you'll ever know, I'm sorry for what I did. I didn't mean to, not really, but you probably won't believe that until I explain." 

"Please, Lance, please tell me," Howie said, wanting desperately to understand, to have all of this make sense finally. 

Lance swallowed again, wishing his throat didn't feel like it was closing up on him, wishing that he were anyplace but here, but not wanting to be anywhere else in the world. He licked his lips, and then the words just began to spill out of him, like a flood from a dam. 

"Howie, I'm gay. I know that sounds strange to hear when we were just talking about me wanting you to kiss me, but I just said it out loud for the first time ever yesterday. It's something I've spent my entire life trying not to say, and even now, when I say it, when I say 'I'm gay', I feel like I should whisper it, or like I should cough when I say it, and try to cover it somehow, like it isn't ok. I feel like I've said the F word at Sunday dinner, like when I say it everything is supposed to stop and everyone is supposed to look at me. I'm gay, but until yesterday it's something that I've never let myself be." 

Lance stared down at his hands. Daring to shift his eyes a little, he saw Howie's feet, and the bottom of his pant legs. Howie was still sitting across from him. He hadn't run from the room, and he hadn't told Lance to get out, so Lance continued. 

"I don't know how to do any of this. I don't know how to tell a guy I like him, and I don't know how to tell if a guy likes me. I didn't know how to read the signals you were trying to send me. I was hoping that they were that you liked me. I was praying that they were, but I didn't know for sure. When I'm with you, I've never been afraid, until the other night when you kissed me. When I was with you, I felt like maybe there wasn't anything wrong with me. Holding your hand on the roller coaster, or sharing popcorn at the movies, I could close my eyes and pretend that was the way things were supposed to be. I could dream about me and you, and pretend that we were a couple, that we might be in love, and it was all ok. You made me feel safe, Howie, you made me feel whole." 

"But how did I change that?" Howie asked. He didn't want to interrupt Lance, but he didn't understand. 

"You didn't," Lance answered. "You didn't change that at all, Howie. When you kissed me, more than anything else, I wanted you to." 

"Lance, I still don't understand," Howie said, wishing Lance would just look at him. Howie could hear the pain in Lance's voice, and wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him, but Lance couldn't even look him in the eyes. 

"Howie, someone, someone I trusted, they hurt me. Someone hurt me very badly, and since they did I haven't been able to feel anything but dirty and ashamed. I've felt that way because it was my fault. I let them hurt me, I even asked for it. I didn't do anything to stop them. Jack had to do it for me, had to step in, and I almost didn't let him. I thought it was what I wanted, and I let them use me, and I knew if you knew that about me, if you knew that happened to me, that you wouldn't want me, that you'd be disgusted by me, because I'm disgusted with myself. When I closed my eyes, when you kissed me, that's all I saw. I saw him, and I heard his voice, and I felt wrong again, I felt dirty again, and I had to get away, so I ran. I ran out of here, and I kept running, but I couldn't run away from myself." 

Lance looked down at his hands, watching them clasp each other. He noticed the little brownish golden hairs on the backs, and then he noticed that they were wet, that they were spotted, and he realized that he was crying, his tears falling on them. Suddenly he saw another pair of hands, honey gold and soft, fold over his own. Looking up, he found himself staring through his tears into Howie's eyes, and he saw that Howie was crying, too. 

"Lance, I will never hurt you, never," Howie said, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I will never do anything to hurt you, not that way, and not any other way. I'll never make you feel ashamed of who you are, or make you do anything you don't want to. I'll never betray your trust, and you'll never have to run away from me, Lance, never." 

"But how can you still want me? How can you still want someone like me, when you can have anyone?" Lance asked, as confused as Howie had been 

"Lance, I couldn't ever want anyone else," Howie said, standing. Lance stood with him, still clasping both his hands. "When I look at you, Lance, I see someone who's perfect. I don't see someone who is dirty, or disgusting. I don't see anyone who has anything to be ashamed of. I see a person who is warm, and funny, and handsome, and who has never done anything to me but push his own life aside and try to help me, to make sure that I'm ok. Lance, you're beautiful. You're everything I've always wanted to find." 

Lance began to cry even harder, his body shaking, and he threw his arms around Howie, pressing the smaller man against him. Howie clutched Lance fiercely, crying as well, and the two of them held on to each other. 

"Howie, I'm afraid," Lance whimpered. "I'm afraid. I know you're not going to hurt me, I know you'd never hurt me, but I'm afraid." 

"Then we'll work through it together, Lance," Howie said, holding him tightly as Lance sobbed even harder. "I won't leave you to go through this alone. I won't let you." 

They stood for a long time like that, holding on to each other, Lance crying himself out against Howie, crying through all of his fears and his pain. Eventually his tears subsided, but he realized that he was exhausted. He pulled away from Howie, yawning, but still lost in Howie's brown eyes as soon as he saw them. 

"Lance, do you want to stay here?" Howie asked quietly. Lance flinched, and opened his mouth to protest, but Howie stopped him. "I won't ask you to do anything, Lance, or expect you to. You never have to do anything with me that you don't want to, never. If you ever decide that you do, I'll be here, but if you never decide to, I'll still be here. I'm not asking if you want to have sex, or even kiss. I just want to know if you would feel better sleeping here than going home." 

"Will you stay with me?" Lance asked quietly, his voice shaking. "Will you hold onto me?" 

"Of course I will," Howie answered. 

Kicking off their shoes, they climbed onto the bed, snuggling up against the pillows. Howie lay on his back, and Lance rested his head on Howie's chest. He clutched Howie tightly, and Howie held onto him, smoothing back his hair, breathing softly. Later on, in the dark, Lanced glanced up at Howie's sleeping face, his eyes wide. 

"I love you, Howie," he whispered. 

Somewhere, in the depths of his sleep, Howie heard him. 

---

"Was he going anywhere today, Josh?" I asked, hanging up my phone after leaving Lance a message. 

"Not that I know of, but he was kind of quiet yesterday," Josh answered, washing the lunch dishes. "I think lunch with Justin kind of threw him a little." 

The two of us were alone in Carla's apartment. We woke up to find her already gone this morning, with a note left for us on the table that said she was going to go spend the day with her mother, and that she'd be back for dinner. She left us the spare key, but we were without a car. We had slept in pretty late, not on purpose, of course, and had gotten up and fixed a quick lunch. 

I stared across Carla's apartment at Josh. He was wearing only his boxer briefs, black ones today, and they clung to his thighs and his ass. Letting my eyes crawl up his body, I admired his calves, noticing the way the fine hairs on them caught the light above the sink and glowed. His thighs bulged and shifted beneath the stretched black cotton, which climbed up toward his waist, rolling over his gorgeously statuesque butt. Above his waistband, the smooth tanned expanse of his back danced and flexed each time he moved his arms, the muscles shifting and sliding over each other like dancers at the ballet. His skin was smooth and golden tan, and the tops of his rounded, firm shoulders glowed under the light as well. Looking at the back of his head, I noticed that he had colored the golden blond highlights out of his hair, which was now getting so long that it was becoming curly and wavy. Finishing the last dish, he put it in the strainer, and turned, his blue eyes flashing as he caught me staring at him. 

Grinning, he began to walk toward me, his lithe form swaying across the room to music that only he could hear. While he was doing the dishes I had folded up the couch, tucking everything back inside since we'd just have to sleep on it again tonight, and I sat back, grinning, as he sashayed toward me, throwing a little sway into his hips. Oh yeah, this boy was a dancer. 

"So," Josh began, stepping up onto the couch. He brought a leg down on either side of me, leaning on the wall with his hands as he stood above me, looking down. >From this angle, looking up toward his face, he was all abs and pecs, his nipples pointing out from the top curves, his armpits dark hollows of brown hair. "I was going to ask why you were so quiet all of a sudden, but I think I can see your problem." 

Leaning on the wall, his arms bulging a little as they took his weight, he lifted one foot, and dropped it gently onto my crotch. In just my boxers, there was little to hide my extremely excited state, and he pressed the sole of his foot against my cock, rotating it slightly. My hips lifted a little on the couch as I pressed back against his foot. 

"My goodness, Jack," Josh sighed, rolling his foot back and forth on top of my cock a little faster. I blocked out the image of what would happen if his arm slipped, and all of his weight came down on his foot right into my groin. "You're all hot and bothered down there. What's got you so excited?" 

"I dunno," I answered, rotating my hips under him, pushing my cock up against his foot. He was barely moving his foot, just rolling it back and forth in a matching circular action, but this was all about the pressure. My cock was trapped between his foot and my body, and the pulsing, rhythmic pressure was driving me quickly toward the edge, much faster than I would have thought possible. 

"You don't know?" he asked, grinning. His sapphire eyes sparkled down at me as he watched my body twisting beneath his now quickly rolling foot. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and I began to let out little involuntary moans as he began wiggling his toes as well, tickling my dripping, slick head. His heel was resting on my sack, not squashing it, but pressing through it onto the base of my cock as the sole of his foot continued massaging my shaft. "Maybe it was something you saw over by the sink?" 

"Could be," I panted, grinning. Oh, I was close, and he knew it. 

"What did you see, Jack?" he asked, licking his lips. "Was it something like, oh, this?" 

He pulled his hands off the wall and tucked them behind his head, elbows raised, and then pulled his body into one long, tight flex. His abs rippled in stark relief, his pecs bulging tightly above them, capped by his brown nipples, and his handsome face grinned above me, staring down. I grunted beneath him, staring up at how beautiful he was, and my hips bucked, almost throwing him off the couch, as I began to cum beneath his foot. He rolled his foot a couple more times, squeezing my seed out of me, before moving it back to the cushion. He brought his arms back to the wall, supporting himself again, as he stood above me. Below him, I slumped against the cushions, grinning, trying to catch my breath. The front of my boxers were sticky and wet. 

"Well, we seem to have taken care of your problem, but what about me?" Josh asked, his eyes glancing down. I followed them to the front of his boxer briefs, which bulged alarmingly less than a foot from my head. 

"What about you?" I asked, smiling. 

"Oh, Jack, don't be like that," Josh said, grinning as he leaned down and stripped out of his briefs. They caught on one of his feet, and he kicked them aside, standing naked above me now. His cock sprang out, freed from confinement, and the head pointed at my mouth, just inches away, the shaft full and hard as it curved out from his brown pubes. "I have something for you." 

"Do you?" I asked, licking my lips. His cock jerked in front of me, throbbing in time to his heartbeat, jumping a little. A tiny bead of precum oozed out of his slit, hanging on the end of his cock, waiting for me. 

"Yeah," he sighed, leaning forward. His arms bulged. "Why don't you show big daddy some tongue, baby?" 

It was all I could do not to ruin the moment by bursting out in laughter. Josh was really hot, but sometimes I wondered if we might need to talk about his idea of talking dirty. His ego might not take it well if I started giggling every time he stood naked above me. Doing as I was told, I tilted my head back and stuck my tongue out, my eyes smiling even if my mouth couldn't. 

"Now let's see," Josh sighed, rubbing the underside of his cock across my tongue. "Where does this go again?" 

I began to lap at the underside of his cock, running my tongue along the huge vein on the bottom, rolling it under the ridge of his cockhead, darting it lightly over the bundle of nerves buried in the skin right under his slit. He sighed above me, and his arms bulged again as he began to lean slowly forward, his cock sliding smoothly toward me and into my mouth. I folded my lips over the head and washed my tongue around it, pushing it into his slit, tasting his salty precum. He pushed more of his cock into my mouth, sighing and smiling above me, his eyes sparkling, and then leaned back, pulling it out, watching as his glistening shaft, dripping with my spit, slid out of my mouth. Leaning forward and back again, using his arms against the wall to move himself against me, he thrust in and out of my mouth with an urgency that told me he wasn't planning to last very long. 

Laying back on the couch, there really wasn't a lot for me to do but keep my mouth open and work him over with my tongue, since Josh was in the driver's seat for this one. My hands climbed up and down his legs, feeling his thighs bunch and shift beneath them. I loved feeling the hairs on his legs brush against my hands when I slid them over him. Running them up higher, I clutched the firm cheeks of his dancer's ass, squeezing them in my hands. He sighed appreciatively above me, and picked up speed, and I used his ass to pull him toward me faster and hard, clutching his cheeks like handles. He began to sigh louder above me, thrusting harder, and I stopped pulling at him, instead just holding on and enjoying the ride. With a final yelp he lurched forward, pressing my head back into the couch as his pelvis smashed against my face, all but smothering me as he shot into my mouth. I felt his cock jerk and pulse atop my tongue, and I swallowed as I struggled to breathe. 

Finally, panting, he slowly pulled out of my mouth, his cock sliding past my lips with a soft pop. I gave it a few licks for good measure, but he was more or less pretty clean. Josh smiled down at me, and I looked up into his eyes as my tongue stretched out to lap at his cockhead. 

"So what are we going to do now?" Josh asked, smiling down at me. My hands rested on his thighs. 

"Since one of us is in slimy boxers, we're going to go take a shower," I said, grinning back up at him. "Then we're going to my apartment to pack some stuff that I don't want the movers touching." 

"Yeah, we have to set all that up today, too," Josh said, climbing down from the couch. He took my hand and led me toward the bathroom. 

We took a quick shower, and then took a cab over to my apartment. Josh winced when he saw the outside and read the spray paint, squeezing my hand as I fished out my key. I hoped no one was watching. I mean yes, Josh did have his usual sunglasses and hat disguise on, but that really didn't cover as much as he thought it did, and who else would be holding my hand in front of my apartment? We walked in, and I closed and locked the door behind us. 

"So, what do you want to do?" Josh asked, looking around. 

"Well, I was thinking that there's no point in moving some of this stuff," I said, glancing around. "I mean, you have dishes and stuff at your house already. I asked Carla last night, and she said I don't really have anything that she wants, so I was thinking maybe we would have the movers take some to your house, and we could have the Goodwill truck stop by to get the rest." 

"That's a great idea," Josh said, smiling. "What should I do?" 

"Why don't you call, and set up the movers and the Goodwill truck?" I asked, picking up a roll of masking tape. "The phone book's over there. I'll start tagging stuff that can go to Goodwill, and then we'll box up the stuff that I don't want the movers to take, and we can send it back on the plane with you to L.A." 

Josh began making calls while I walked slowly through the apartment, tagging things that there was just no point in taking. Josh would have a microwave, and bookcases. The living room set was brand new, and even if we didn't need it I didn't want to tag it and have Josh think I was deliberately throwing away a gift from him. I also began jotting notes on the board on my refrigerator, making a list of other things I needed to do that couldn't be handled on a Saturday, like having the telephone turned off and setting up mail forwarding at the post office. Every time I walked past, Josh had added something, like, "Kiss boyfriend" or "Steal Josh's Heart". I smiled and blew him kisses as he continued to chatter away on the phone. 

"What else can I do?" he asked, finishing up with the movers as I began consolidating personal items in the bedroom. They'd be easier to pack that way. 

"There are paper bags under the sink," I said, opening my closet. "Start bagging up the groceries in the cabinets, and we can drop them at the food pantry on our way back to Carla's." 

"OK," he said, and I heard him begin opening cabinets. "I love you." 

"I love you, too, Josh," I answered absently, setting things on the bed. 

I found a box in the back of the closet, and began carefully putting things in it, wrapping breakables in t-shirts, loading in all of the things that I didn't want the movers to see, and all of the things that I didn't want to run the risk of having lost or broken. My old journals went into the box, along with a framed picture of Carla and I. I packed the wine bottle that Josh had poured all over me, and tried to pack the dried bouquet I'd saved without it getting too damaged. Josh came in when I was more or less finished, and glanced into the box as I sat next to it, trying to figure out why I felt so bad. Although the box was rather small, barely the size of a toaster oven, there was still room in it. 

"Are you all done, Jack?" Josh asked, staring down at me. He knelt on the floor, looking up into my eyes. "This box isn't even full." 

"I know," I said, staring down at him. "I think that's why I feel so sad. I'm supposed to be packing all the important stuff in my life, and I can't even fill up one box." 

Josh took my hands, squeezing them in his own. 

"Maybe that just means that things aren't really important to you," he said, his eyes wide and concerned. "Maybe you're just a person who carries important stuff inside." 

"Or maybe my life was just really empty before I met you," I said sadly. I had always thought I was very happy with my life until I stepped outside of it, but maybe I had just confused "comfortable" with "happy." "I mean, Josh, it shouldn't really be this easy for me to leave, should it? What does that say about me? What kind of person does that make me?" 

"It doesn't matter, Jack," Josh answered, kissing the backs of my hands. His lips were soft and warm. "Does your life feel empty now?" 

"No, no it doesn't," I answered, smiling at him. "Right now my life feels very full." 

"Then forget about the past, " he said, smiling. "Leave it behind. You're with me now, where you belong, and where I want you to stay." 

I hugged him tightly, feeling a little better. 

"How'd you get to be so perfect?" I asked. 

"My parents had really good genes," he answered, laughing at his own joke as I giggled along with him. "Hey, what's that?" 

Josh walked away from me and picked something up off of my dresser and held it up. 

"That's my college ring," I answered, smiling. "I didn't even want one, but my mom insisted that I have one, because, you know, everyone does." 

"How come you don't wear it?" Josh asked, slipping it onto his own finger. He held his hand out, smiling. "Aren't you proud?" 

"Of going to college?" I asked. "Josh, all my friends did it. Everyone does." 

I watched his face fall, and realized what I'd said. Yes, where I grew up, everyone did, but not everyone in the world went to college. 

"Not everyone," Josh said sadly, turning away from me. "I didn't." 

"Josh, I didn't mean to say it like that," I said, crossing the room. I hugged him from behind, both of us staring at my ring on his finger. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings." 

"It's just that, you know, I never went to college, Jack," Josh said. "Justin had to finish high school by correspondence, and none of the rest of us went to college. Probably none of us will. And you have. Sometimes I just wonder what you're thinking, and I feel kind of dumb." 

"Josh, you're not dumb," I said. "You didn't miss a damn thing at college, Josh. All I learned there was how to repeat things I read in other people's books. Look at all the stuff you've done, and all the places you've been. You've done things that I never have, and probably never will. It doesn't all come from books, Josh." 

I put a hand on his forehead, and a hand on his heart. 

"I love you for what's in here, and what's in here," I said, and then dropped them to his crotch. "And what's in here, of course." 

The two of us laughed, and then Josh held up his hand again, staring at my ring. 

"Jack, can I keep this?" he asked quietly. 

"You want to wear my ring?" I asked, about to ask if he wanted to be the cheerleader to my quarterback, before I realized he was serious. "Of course you can, babe." 

Josh didn't take my ring off for the rest of the day. He proudly showed it off to Carla when we met her for dinner, and he kept looking at it during the meal, too. That night, as we cuddled against each other in bed after swearing not to do anything sexual, I felt it sliding over my shoulders as he hugged me. I don't know why Josh was so proud of it, but when he talked to Chris on the phone to make sure that he would pick him up at the airport, he loudly bragged about the jewelry I had given him. 

The next morning, after we were all up, Josh and I took Carla out to breakfast, and then we took Josh to the airport. He was clutching the box of my things, not willing to let it out of his sight, and in the bag he had the papers about the reporters, since we had finally decided on an interview with Carla's help. For print, we were giving out two interviews, one to "People" magazine and one to "The Advocate". Josh was going to set up the scheduling through the publicists, to make sure the articles came out the same week as our Barbara Walters interview, which I considered pretty exciting. In the terminal, we held hands waiting for the plane, until we heard someone snapping pictures and we relocated to the VIP lounge, both of us sighing as Carla loudly bitched about classlessly uncouth people who couldn't give anyone a moment's privacy. 

"Maybe if you asked first, but no, you just snap away!" Carla all but shrieked as Josh pulled her into the lounge. She ducked out for one last comment. "I better not see those pictures in 'People' next week either, you vulture!" 

"Carla, please calm down," Josh said. "People snap pictures of me all the time. You get used to it." 

"It's rude," Carla said, shaking her head. 

We both laughed as she stared at us like we were crazy. When it was finally time for Josh's flight, I walked him to the gate, where he hugged me, and clutched my box as his carry on bag. 

"I love you, Josh," I whispered. "Call me when you get back." 

"I will," he answered. "I love you, too. Hurry back to me, ok?" 

"OK," I answered. 

---

CHAPTER 49

---

Lance knelt on the floor, weeping, wanting to be anywhere else, but unable to move. He tried to turn his head, tried to look away, to move his mouth away, but Justin had his face pinned between both of his hands. Justin's fingers pressed into his jaw painfully, digging in, and he couldn't fight them as Justin tilted his head upward. He wanted to close his eyes, but his eyelids wouldn't obey his screaming mental commands, forcing him to see everything, to see Justin's naked cock, dripping and wet, spiking out above his face. Beyond it, glowing, impossibly beautiful, was Justin's bare torso, his abs rippled and golden, his pecs curving out like mountains, capped by his pink nipples with their hard, jutting tips. Justin's skin was glistening, sparkling, glowing with unearthly health, and his face beamed down at Lance, golden as the sun, his smile a dazzling ribbon of pearly white, his bright blue eyes like lasers, searing into Lance, searing through him into his heart, into his soul, into the places where he stored all of his secrets from the world. Justin was so beautiful it hurt Lance to look up at him, but it was a frightening, terrible beauty. 

"You want it, don't you?" Justin whispered, over and over, like a chant. It bored into Lance, drove itself between his ears until it was all he could hear. "You want it, I know you want it, you want it, because you're bad, bad, dirty, wrong, you want it, don't you, Lance?" 

Justin's voice whispered over and over as he loomed above Lance, as his cock loomed above Lance's open mouthed, upturned face. Lance heard himself protesting over and over that he didn't, he didn't want it, and then, his heart freezing inside him, he heard his own voice crack, and squeak out one word. 

"Yes." 

Above him, Justin laughed, booming like thunder, and his cock surged forward toward Lance's mouth. 

Lance woke up screaming, thrashing, his body covered with sweat. He felt arms around him, holding him tightly, and he knew they were Justin's. 

"No!" Lance yelped, struggling against them as they pulled tighter around him. "No, no, no!" 

"Lance, Lance, you're safe," a soothing voice said above him. "Lance, you're safe, it's just a dream, you're safe, Lance." 

Lance realized that the chest he was pressed against was fully clothed, and smaller, not as wide as Justin's, although it was just as well built. The arms holding him weren't hurting him, weren't doing anything but clinging to him. The smell around him wasn't Justin, and the voice was warm, and soft, not harsh. Lance suddenly remembered where he was, not on his knees in his bedroom, but with Howie. 

"Howie?" Lance asked quietly, afraid to look up, afraid to see Howie's expression of disgust. 

"I'm here, Lance," Howie sighed quietly, smoothing Lance's hair back off of his forehead. "I'm right here, Lance, and I'll never hurt you. You're safe here." 

Lance looked up, finally, tilting his head up, and blinked fresh tears from his eyes so he could see. Howie stared down into Lance's green eyes, his brown eyes warm and wet with tears of his own, and felt his heart breaking to see Lance in so much pain. Howie's face was twisted with concern, lines etched around his eyes, the shadows under them standing out sharply in the sunlight spilling in from the windows. Lance noticed that Howie's chin and cheeks were covered with a scruff of whiskers, and suddenly he felt everything welling up in him again, and let it all spill out. 

"He hurt me, Howie. He used me, made me, made me do things to him. He just did them over and over, and I kept letting him. And he said things, the things he said, over and over. I let him do it, Howie. I let him do things to me, and I thought it was what I wanted. I thought it was what I wanted, but I didn't want it that way! I didn't want it like that, I didn't!" 

Howie continued to hold Lance, running one hand in soothing circles around his back, stroking his hair softly with the other. 

"I didn't want it that way," Lance repeated, sobbing against Howie's chest. 

"I know, Lance, I know," Howie whispered, letting Lance cry himself out. 

When Lance's tears appeared to have mostly subsided, and his breathing to have returned to normal, Howie carefully sat up in the bed, pulling Lance up with him. Lance stared at him, wide eyed, as if wondering what he was about to do. Howie had already noticed that every time he moved in certain ways, or even just in unexpected ones, Lance flinched, became fearful, his green eyes bulging as he waited to see what Howie would do next. Howie felt something inside him breaking all over again. 

"Lance, why don't you go in the bathroom, and wash your face off?" Howie suggested. "Your eyes are all puffy, and the cold water might make you feel better, too. And then, while you do that, why don't I call room service and order breakfast? Would you like that?" 

"Yes," Lance said, looking away, thinking of the bathroom. 

Howie might think cold water would make him feel better, but Lance knew what he needed. His face was dirty, so dirty like the rest of him, and he needed to scrub that away. Howie watched Lance walk toward the bathroom, slump shouldered, and sighed again, thinking about how hard this was going to be, and how hard it must be for Lance. In the end, though, it would all be worth it. He just had to make Lance see that, too. Howie ordered breakfast from room service, asking for a little of everything since he didn't know what Lance would want, and then turned toward the bathroom, noticing a billowing cloud of steam drifting from the partially opened door. Walking over quietly, he pushed the door open, and stood, surprised. 

Lance was standing in front of the sink, rubbing a washcloth furiously over his red face. The faucet in the sink had been turned on as far as it would go, and water was spraying into the bowl with such force that it was splashing up onto the counter. The bathroom was full of steam, clouds of it hanging around the ceiling and the lights, and the walls were wet with little tickles of condensation. Lance continued scrubbing at his face, crying, staring into the mirror which couldn't possibly be showing him anything, fogged as it was. 

"Lance!" Howie said sharply. Lance turned toward him, wide eyed, and then he just crumbled, skittering backward away from Howie as Howie walked slowly toward him. "Lance, what are you doing?" 

Howie's voice was low and quiet, but filled with pain and confusion. Lance knew that Howie wouldn't hurt him, but he felt the washcloth in his hand, felt his face burning, and realized that he had done it again, had scalded himself again. He sat on the counter, crumbling, feeling like everything inside him was just in a freefall collapse. Howie twisted off the faucet as he walked over to Lance, and Lance realized that tears were standing in Howie's eyes, unshed. He felt so ashamed. 

"Lance, what are you doing?" Howie asked again, quietly, putting a hand on Lance's shoulder, grateful that Lance didn't flinch away from it. 

"I just want to be clean," Lance answered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just felt so dirty, again, and I wanted to scrub it away." 

"Lance, come here," Howie said, taking Lance by the shoulders. He turned him back toward the mirror, and swiped a large part clear with a sweep of his hand. "Lance, look in the mirror. Really look, and tell me what you see." 

"I see you," Lance said, staring at the reflection of Howie's face next to his own face, which was an angry red below his wet, wildly disarrayed hair. "I see you and me." 

"Look at us, Lance, really look," Howie said, holding him tightly with one arm as he pulled the washcloth out of Lance's hand with the other hand. "No dirt, Lance, no dirt and no stain. Just you and me, and you're perfect." 

"No," Lance said, trying to turn away. Just because Howie couldn't see it didn't mean it wasn't there. Lance could feel it inside of him, just under the skin. "No, not perfect." 

"Yes, Lance," Howie said forcefully, overriding him. "Lance, you're perfect to me. Perfect. Please, just, please stop hurting yourself." 

"I'm sorry," Lance said, looking down. "I'm sorry." 

"Don't apologize to me, Lance," Howie said, reaching over to gently blot his face with a towel, barely touching him. "Just please, don't hurt yourself anymore. I have some moisturizer. Do you want me to put some on?" 

"Yes," Lance barely whispered, looking away still. 

Howie squeezed a little of the lotion onto his fingers and began to gently rub it into Lance's face, barely touching him, afraid of hurting him. His skin was so red it must have hurt to be touched, like he had a bad sunburn, and Howie wondered if he should be administering first aid of some kind. Since he didn't really know any, it kind of rendered the idea a moot point. Lance sighed as Howie's fingers traced lightly over his forehead, down the bridge of his nose, over his cheeks, under his chin to his neck, and finished by tracing gently under his eyes. 

"Thank you," Lance said, taking Howie's hands in his own, gently pulling them down from his face. "That feels better." 

"Lance, I don't know how to help you if you won't tell me," Howie said quietly. "If you feel a certain way, or I do something that makes you feel bad, please tell me. Please let me help you, Lance." 

"I'll try," Lance said quietly, wishing he could do more than just hold Howie's hands. He wanted to reach out to him, wanted to hug him, to kiss him, even, but as soon as he thought about it, his heart started racing again, and the room seemed so small. All he could do without wanting to leave was just hold onto Howie. 

The two of them walked into the suiteroom, Lance sitting down on the sofa while Howie went to answer the knocking at the door. A waiter rolled in breakfast on a little cart, the tray brimming over with plates and platters. Bottles of juice and milk tinkled next to a coffee pot and a pot of hot water sitting next to a basket of tea bags. Lance looked at the cart, covered with enough breakfast for about ten people, and maybe a few pets, and smiled. Howie watched him laugh as he tipped the waiter and closed the door. 

"Expecting both our bands to show up?" Lance asked, waiting for Howie to take a plate before he did. 

"I didn't know what you liked," Howie began, motioning for Lance to come over, "so I ordered everything on the breakfast menu." 

"Do you, um, can I help cover this?" Lance asked, and Howie laughed. 

"Lance, I know you guys made more on your tour than we did, but we're not exactly hurting for cash," Howie answered, spooning some scrambled eggs onto his plate as Lance speared a waffle. "It's just breakfast." 

"Maybe I'll get lunch, then, " Lance said, shaking his head. 

"You'll still be here at lunch time?" Howie asked, hopeful. He'd been afraid that any second Lance was going to burst into tears and run from the suite again, and that this time he might not come back. 

Lance looked up at Howie, surprised, worried suddenly that Howie might not want him here. When he saw Howie's face, though, he realized that Howie looked just as scared, but also hopeful. 

"I will if you want me to be, " Lance said quietly. 

"I do," Howie said, smiling at him shyly. 

The two of them sat on the couch, next to each other, glancing over at each other every once in a while and smiling as they ate their breakfast. Lance got up for a second trip to the cart, for some oatmeal, and felt Howie watching him as he did. He wondered, briefly, if Howie was looking at his butt, and then wondered if Howie liked what he saw. He found that he liked that idea, suddenly, and it sent a little shudder racing up his spine. When he sat back down, he looked at Howie again, falling into his brown eyes. Lance felt like he could get lost in them, and it was a place where he might want to stay. 

"Howie, can I ask you something?" Lance began, wondering if this would upset Howie. 

"Sure," Howie answered. "You can ask me anything, Lance." 

"Are you gay?" Lance asked, looking away and blushing. "I mean, I know you like me, but are you gay, or are you bi?" 

"I'm gay, Lance," Howie answered quietly. 

"How long, when did you know?" Lance asked, not sure of how to phrase the question. 

"I think I kind of always knew, but I didn't really admit it until right before we started the group," Howie answered. 

"Do the guys know?" Lance asked. "Because we didn't know about Josh, and I haven't really told them about me, either. I think they know about me, though." 

Howie looked down, swallowing. 

"Yeah, yeah, they know," he answered, not really wanting to talk about this. If Lance asked, he would answer, but otherwise he didn't even like to think about this. "I told my family, and I told the guys right at the beginning, when we were starting out." 

"Did they take it ok?" Lance asked, remembering how emphatic Howie had been that they had done an amazing thing by supporting JC. Howie looked pained, swallowing again, and Lance took his hand. 

"No, they didn't take it ok, " Howie said quietly. "Kevin did, and so did AJ. They know a lot of gay guys, so it didn't really bother them. It bothered Brian a little, but he and I have talked about it a lot, and he's kind of come around. Nick's never been ok with it, though. Most of the time he doesn't really care, but sometimes he can just be, you know, a little nasty about it, like if he's mad about something else." 

"I'm sorry," Lance said, squeezing Howie's hand. 

"We had a talk about it, in the beginning," Howie said, surprised and grateful that Lance had reached out to him. "And I told the guys that we could decide as a group, and do whatever was best for the band, and that I'd go along with it. We decided that it would be too hard to make it, to get ourselves off the ground, if I was out, because people would focus on the gay thing, so we kept it quiet. And now you guys have gone that step that we wouldn't take." 

"You still could," Lance said. "Is that what you and Nick were fighting about?" 

"Yeah," Howie answered. "We actually met backstage at the show to talk about it again, and then again in the limo. I'm not going to come out, Lance. They almost said yes. AJ thought it was a good idea, and I think Kevin and Brian would have gone along with it, but Nick said we couldn't. He said that it would be like we were copying you guys, and that people wouldn't take it so well. And now that you guys are starting to catch a little flack, I don't think the other guys are going to come around." 

Lance sighed. They were getting a little more flack lately, beyond that guy who was calling for the record burnings. Some radio stations were refusing to play their records, and some people were condemning Josh for trying to make being gay seem cool somehow, but it wasn't too bad. They expected it to all blow over soon, anyway, as it had been almost a week. Any day now another story would come along, and people would have something else to talk about. 

"Howie, have you, um, have you been with a, you know, have you dated a lot of guys?" Lance asked uncertainly, stammering the words out. 

"No," Howie answered. "I've only dated two guys, and neither one for very long. It's hard to find someone who, you know, is ok with my staying in the closet and who's ok with the kind of pressure I'm under." 

"Howie, I want to, um, I want to ask you something," Lance said, feeling the walls close in again. He closed his eyes and willed them away, willed all of the bad thoughts away from himself. "But first I have to explain something to you. I like you, Howie. I like you a lot. You said that you feel like there's a bond between us, and I feel like there is, too. I've thought about this. I've thought about it a lot for the past couple days, just laying on my bed and staring at the wall. I want to stay in the closet, too. I don't want this to come out. I'm not ready to tell my family, or really anyone besides the guys, about me." 

"Lance, are you asking me," Howie began, smiling. He felt his heart racing, and he squeezed Lance's hand even tighter. 

"Not yet," Lance answered, shaking his head. 

He looked at Howie again, staring into his eyes. He wanted to look away, wanted to look anywhere else, because he didn't want to say this, but he owed it to Howie to be honest with him, and let him know everything before he asked him to make a decision. He had to give Howie the chance to say no, to walk away. If he did, Lance thought his heart might break, thought he might not be able to get out of bed at all tomorrow, but he had to tell Howie everything. 

"I have to tell you that I, I won't be able to be with you," Lance said, and saw Howie's eyes widen. "I don't mean I won't be able to be around you, because I like spending time with you, and holding your hands, and hearing you laugh. I like everything about you, and the way you make me feel, but I can't, I mean, you know, I can't have sex, Howie. I can't have sex with you, I can't be with you that way. I can't, right now I can't touch you that way, can't share that with you, and I don't know when I will be able to. I'm trying, and when you kissed me, I wanted you to so bad, but it, there's stuff inside me, and I don't know when I'm going to be past that." 

Howie looked at Lance, seeing the tears running down his cheeks that he seemed unaware of. He realized how hard it must be for Lance to say that, how much it must hurt him, and how scared he must be waiting to hear what Howie would say. 

"Lance, I'll wait for you," Howie said. "I'll wait until you're ready." 

Lance looked at Howie, surprised but glad. He felt a wave of warmth flooding through him. 

"Howie, would you, um, would you be my first boyfriend?" Lance asked, swallowing. His heart was beating so fast he thought it might burst through his chest as he waited for Howie to answer. 

"Yes," Howie answered. "Yes, I will. I'd be honored to be your boyfriend, Lance." 

Lance swallowed, and licked his lips. Leaning in, closer, closer, he felt his own lips brush softly over Howie's, pressing gently. He pulled back, and saw Howie grinning at him. 

"Although, you know," Howie began, holding both of Lance's hands. "I think I'd rather be your only boyfriend than your first one." 

"OK," Lance said, smiling. 

They sat on the couch, holding hands, staring at each other and sighing. 

"So, um, what do you want to do now?" Lance asked, grinning. 

"I kind of want to get in the shower, actually," Howie said. "Do you want to watch TV?" 

"Sure," Lance said. "I probably need to take a shower, too." 

"You could, um, you could join me if you wanted to," Howie suggested, his eyebrows raised. 

"I, uh, I," Lance stammered, thinking of being naked in the shower with Howie, naked under all that water, where Howie could see him. 

"Or you could go after me," Howie said quickly, watching Lance pale. 

Lance swallowed, and looked down, suddenly very sad. 

"I, I don't think I can do it," he said quietly, and started to cry. Howie put an arm around Lance, and pulled him tightly to his chest. "You deserve someone better than me, Howie. You deserve someone who can be there for you, in every way, not someone, someone like me." 

"Lance, I don't want anyone else," Howie said, rocking slowly back and forth as he cradled Lance to him. "I told you, I'll wait until you're ready. We'll get through this together, Lance, I know we will." 

They sat like that for a few minutes until Lance collected himself, and then Howie got up, making sure Lance was comfortable. Lance assured him that he was, and watched as Howie went into the bathroom and closed the door. He heard the shower start, and then his phone rang from where he'd dropped it in the bedroom, where he'd forgotten he left it turned on. He picked it up and answered. 

"Hi, this is Lance." 

"Hey, Lance, it's Chris." 

"Hi, Chris," Lance said, wondering why he was calling. "How are you?" 

"I'm good," Chris answered. "I'm on my way to the airport to pick up JC. I stopped by your door to ask if you wanted to go, but you're not home, and Joey said your car wasn't here all night. Are you ok?" 

"I'm fine, Chris," Lance answered, surprised that anyone had even noticed he wasn't around. "I'm with Howie, at his hotel, and I'm fine. I slept over here." 

"You talked to him?" Chris asked. Obviously he had. It would be hard to sleep over without speaking to him. 

"Yeah, everything's fine," Lance answered. "Can I tell you something, but you know, can you keep it quiet?" 

"Sure," Chris answered, grinning. 

"Howie's my boyfriend," Lance whispered, feeling like a seventh grader. "But I want to tell the guys myself." 

"Congratulations, bro!" Chris yelled, laughing. 

"Thanks," Lance said. He heard the shower switch off. "I have to go, ok? But I'm fine." 

"OK," Chris said. "Have fun!" 

Lance hung up the phone and looked up as Howie stepped out of the bathroom wearing only a towel. His shoulders, chest, and hair were wet, dripping with water that glistened in the light coming in from the windows, and Lance felt all the breath go rushing out of him. He'd never seen Howie without a shirt on, never known that he was so handsome, so well built and defined. All of his muscles were cut, his abs firm, his pecs smooth and rounded and capped with tan, brownish nipples. There was a sprinkling of black hair between them, and a dark trail of it leading down from his navel, disappearing beneath the towel. 

"Lance," Howie said, shaking Lance out of his dreamy perusal of Howie's body. "I'm done with the shower. Do you need to borrow some clothes?" 

"Uh, yeah, probably," Lance said, shaking his head. 

"I don't think my pants will fit you, since, you know, I'm shorter, but I have everything else," Howie said, noticing Lance's eyes sliding over him. 

Maybe it wouldn't be long at all before he was cured, if the look on his face was any indication. Howie hadn't thought of that when he came out of the bathroom, and realized that he needed to be more careful. He didn't want to do something thoughtless that might upset Lance. He decided that, from now on, he'd just have to pay close attention. 

"OK," Lance said, not wanting to stand up. He realized that he was hard, painfully hard, staring at Howie's torso, and his eyes, which seemed so much more prominent and striking beneath his slicked back wet hair. 

"I'll get some stuff out after I get dressed," Howie said, walking into the bedroom. He shut the door behind him, and Lance bolted to the bathroom. 

He got in the shower, making sure the water was at a normal temperature, and let it wash down over him. 

---

I wish I could say the three days that I was without Josh flew by, but they didn't. They crawled almost painfully slowly, filled with the mundane tasks associated with dismantling your life. I was struck several times by that odd thought again that something just wasn't right, that my life before Josh must have been completely empty, because it seemed almost too easy to just pack everything up and move on. After all the times in the past week that I had stopped to ponder whether or not I was losing myself by becoming one of Josh's accessories, I was now starting to wonder if I even had a self to lose. 

On Monday, when I went in to pack up my office at school, I discovered that Carla had thrown together a going away party at lunchtime for me, in the main cafeteria. My friends from the faculty were there, and the kids all came over to say goodbye, but the atmosphere was off somehow. A lot of people smiled and wished me good luck, but I also heard a lot of whispering, especially from the kids. A few of them asked if Josh was in town, or if I was bringing him to the school with me, and their faces fell in disappointment when I explained that he was in Los Angeles, working on the band's next album. 

On Monday night I talked to Josh on the phone for a while. I had lots of privacy, since Carla was out on her date with Tom, my former neighbor. The papers had carried a small blurb in the entertainment section talking about the vandalism at my apartment and the petition, neither of which would have been worthy enough news to send over the AP wires if I were dating anyone else. Josh and I had finished tweaking the official statement about he and I dating, and had given it to the publicity department to release, along with the additional information about our forthcoming interviews on the subject. I told Josh that since it was part of the story, it was ok for them to also let reporters know that I had resigned my position, rendering the petition invalid, because I was relocating. Josh also shared with me the rather interesting tidbit of information that Lance hadn't come home Saturday night or Sunday, and that Monday morning he had been dropped off at the studio, in front of the other guys, by Howie. 

"So, like, are they a couple?" I asked. 

"Lance didn't say anything, and none of us wanted to ask," Josh answered. "We were afraid he'd get upset, but he looks happy, Jack, really happy." 

"Good for Lance," I said, grinning. 

On Tuesday I watched the movers pack up everything I owned, and then I said goodbye to all of my neighbors and turned in my keys. My landlord had been completely accepting of the idea that I pay for all the damage in exchange for breaking my lease, so at least that wouldn't be a problem. On Tuesday night I took Carla out to eat, and then on Wednesday morning, after another rough night's sleep in a big empty bed by myself, Carla took the morning off and drove me to the airport. Knowing how bad I am at goodbyes, she gave me a quick hug at the gate, but we were both sniffling. 

"Good luck, kiddo," she said, forcing a smile. "Be happy." 

"Thanks," I said. "It's not like you'll never see me again, you know. We can fly you out anytime." 

"I know," she said, grinning. "Maybe I'll get to go to the Oscars after all." 

The plane ride couldn't go by fast enough for me. I was fidgety and antsy, which gets noticed in first class. The flight attendant kept trying to bring me things, or get me a pillow, but there was just no helping me. All I wanted was Josh, and when the plane landed, I hustled through the gate, looking everywhere for him. 

"Jack." 

I spun around, but it wasn't Josh. 

"Howie?" I asked, confused. He stepped toward me, smiling, holding out his hand, so I shook it. "Are you here for me?" 

"JC asked if I could pick you up, since I was right there," Howie said, starting to walk toward the baggage claim. "He's at the studio with the other guys. I'm supposed to take you there, and then I think JC is taking you over to the hospital later." 

"The hospital?" I asked, confused and a little scared. 

"JC didn't tell you?" Howie asked, his eyes darting around nervously. 

"No," I answered, taking Howie's arm. I hadn't noticed before that he was so much shorter than me, like a little elf, but I remembered that all of the Backstreet Boys were smaller in person. Still, I could feel muscle in there. "Tell me what, Howie?" 

"It's not any of the guys," Howie said quickly. "They're all fine. It's just, it's better if JC tells you, ok?" 

"OK," I answered, letting him go. Bullying him would serve no purpose, especially not in the airport. 

We collected my suitcase and headed for the car. We were just pulling onto the freeway when another thought occurred to me, and sent a shivering chill down my spine. 

If it wasn't any of the guys, was there something wrong with me? 

---

CHAPTER 50

---

I realized as soon as the thought crossed my mind that I was being foolish. If I were sick, I would know about it before Josh would, so he wouldn't be taking me to the hospital for that, unless he was secretly drawing my blood in the middle of the night. Honestly, though, considering how sensitive I was to all the other things he slid into me, I was pretty sure I'd feel a needle. But if he'd thought to tell Howie to assure me that it wasn't him or any of the guys, why hadn't he thought to just have him tell me whatever it was? 

Maybe it was something that would piss me off, I reasoned as we drove along to the studio. That would be the only reason why Josh wanted to tell me himself. What could it be? Maybe it was some new horror that Stan had conceived, like I wasn't allowed to sleep with Josh again until I had a clean bill of health, or something. I hadn't protested much over the confidentiality agreement, but I would bitch up a storm about this. Either way, it probably wasn't worth bullying Howie over. 

"Howie, I'm sorry I grabbed you back at the airport," I said. 

"It's ok," Howie said. "You were just surprised. That's a hell of a grip you got there, though." 

"Did I hurt your arm?" I asked, but he shook his head. "I'm sorry, Howie. You must think I'm a really horrible person. I mean, the first time you meet me I'm like, 'Hi, I don't have time for you right now,' and the second time I start manhandling you in the airport. I thought maybe Josh was hurt, or Lance." 

"Jack, I said it's ok," Howie said, shaking his head, but smiling. 

"So," I began, looking over at him. Howie looked cuter than his pictures when you saw him in person. "How is it that, you know, a Backstreet Boy happened to be hanging around on Nsync turf when Josh needed someone to come get me?" 

Howie laughed. 

"Nsync turf?" he asked, shaking his head. "What is this, 'West Side Story'?" 

"You mean a tale of forbidden love?" I asked, smirking. "A touching drama about a boy from one rival family, and, well?" 

Howie grinned at me. 

"What exactly is it that you're asking, Jack?" Howie giggled. 

"Oh, I think you know," I answered, giggling as well. I realized that I didn't know Howie that well, though. "Unless, you know, it's none of my business." 

"Well, you know, Lance kind of wants to tell the guys on his own, but he said if you asked, I was supposed to tell you whatever you wanted to know," Howie answered, looking thoughtfully at me for a second. "He thinks pretty highly of you, you know. Talks about you all the time." 

"I, um, think pretty highly of Lance, too," I said unsurely. I smiled. "I can't help but notice that you haven't answered my question yet, Howie. If you, um, don't want to talk about it, that's ok." 

"No, no, I'm sorry," Howie said, shaking his head. "Um, yes, Lance and I are together, but we're keeping it quiet. I'm sure he's gonna tell you this when you finally talk to him, but, you know, I'm not really out, and Lance doesn't want to be right now, either. I'm out to the other Boys, you know, but I haven't told them about Lance, and I think the only one of your guys he's actually said something to is Chris." 

"Josh seems to know," I said, laughing. "He mentioned that Lance hasn't been sleeping at his own place." 

"I know," Howie said. "I'm sure they've all noticed that I drop Lance off in the morning, too, but nobody's said anything to him." 

"I don't think they will," I said. Nobody wanted to push Lance right now. 

"Yeah, he said that they've kind of been treating him with kid gloves," Howie said, and then suddenly blushed. I realized what was wrong. 

"He said me, too, didn't he?" I asked. Howie didn't answer, blushing even redder. "It's ok, Howie, I know we've been a little touchy around him. Has he told you why?" 

"More or less," Howie answered. "He said that somebody, um, somebody hurt him, and that you helped him through it. He said the guys all know." 

I listened to what Howie said, and realized Lance hadn't told him who had done it or what it was. That wasn't my place, though. It was their relationship, and what Lance chose to share and how to share it was up to him. Honestly I was surprised Lance had opened up enough to share even that much. I guess therapy was going well. 

"Howie, it's probably not my place to say this," I began, folding my hands together. "I don't know how things are between the two of you, but please, just, be gentle with him, and be patient, ok? Lance is kind of, well, fragile, for lack of a better word, at least he is right now, and I don't want him to get hurt, ok?" 

"I know what you mean, Jack, " Howie said, sighing. "I know how Lance is right now, and I've told him that we don't have to do anything until he's ready. We're going really slow, and I'm, um, I'm going with him to one of his appointments this week, because he asked if I would." 

"He must really trust you a lot, Howie," I said. 

"As much as he trusts you," Howie said, smiling. "We both want what's best for Lance, Jack." 

"I think we do," I said, smiling as well. "I also think maybe that makes us friends." 

"Yeah, I think it does," Howie agreed. "So, tell me all about my new friend Jack." 

"I will," I began, "as long as you tell me all about my new friend Howie." 

The two of us had a rather pleasant ride after that, exchanging information about ourselves and our backgrounds. Howie told me about where he'd grown up, and about how he got involved with the Backstreet Boys. I hadn't known, before, that they had toured Europe so extensively, or that they, like Nsync, shared a relationship with Lou, over which there was bad blood. I didn't know Lou's last name, as the guys only referred to him as "that bastard Lou", but I knew Josh and the guys had been through a nasty lawsuit with him, and now I learned from Howie that the Backstreet Boys had been through a similar lawsuit hell with him. 

"It's actually kind of why there's been a little friction between our groups," Howie explained, steering effortlessly through traffic that would have had me quivering in terror and unable to turn the wheel. I noticed for the first time that we were riding in Lance's car. "A lot of people said that Lou started them after the suit with us, to compete." 

"That's not true," I said, shaking my head, feeling the need to defend Josh and the guys. "Chris started the band, and then Lou signed them. I mean, yeah, you guys went first, but really, you know, the New Kids on the Block were here even before you, so it's not like you're crushingly original." 

"Hey, hey," Howie said, holding up a hand. "No need to get all defensive. I'm not dissin' your man. Mostly that feud's just in the press, and with the fans. We actually all sort of know each other, and get on ok. We've heard enough of them to know that, you know, they're for real. Not like, you know, Lou's other creation." 

"What other creation?" I asked. 

"O-Town," Howie answered gravely. 

"Oh, yuck," I said. 

The two of us looked at each other and burst into laughter. By the time we finally got to the studio, I was starting to feel like Howie and I might be pretty good friends, or at least on the way to it. He also seemed like a perfect balance for Lance, and I found myself kind of hoping that things would work out for them. I noticed as we pulled up that Josh's car wasn't in the lot, although Chris and Justin's were. Checking my watch, I saw that it was almost time for the guys to wrap up for the day, and Howie followed me inside. 

Bruce looked up as we entered. 

"Jack! You're back," he said. "Oh, and Mr. Dorough is with you. I was told to tell you both to go on back into the bubble, and that the guys would be out soon." 

"Thanks, Bruce," I said. I turned to Howie as we walked the halls. "I see you're on the visitor list." 

"Yeah, I've been by a few times," Howie said, grinning. 

When we walked into the bubble, we saw all five guys in one room, singing together. The sound wasn't switched on for us, so we couldn't hear them, and they mostly had their backs to us, so Howie and I just sat and waited, watching them. Behind them, in the room on the other side, I could see a technician and Stan, who frowned when he saw me. Maybe it was a frown because he saw Howie. It was probably meant for both of us, actually, the competition and the distraction. Yeah, Howie and I were going to be fast friends. Eventually Joey saw us, nodding, and when they came to a pause he must have said something, because all five of them turned toward us, and four of them smiled. 

Joey and Chris gave little waves, and Lance mouthed a "Hi" at Howie, and then waved at me. Justin saw us both and nodded before looking down and away again. Even in that small a room, he was still standing a little apart from the other four, and I wondered if he had put himself there or if the others had unconsciously moved away from him. I didn't wonder long, though, or even take much notice of Justin, because I mainly only had eyes for Josh. When he saw me his whole face lit up, his lips sliding back into an easy grin, his blue eyes sparkling. I blew him a kiss, and when he lifted his hand to the side of his face, pretending to catch it, I saw that he was still wearing my college ring. I glanced over at Howie, curious, and almost laughed. He mouthed a "Hi" back at Lance, and then the two of them blushed and looked away, grinning a little, before they looked back at each other again, and then blushed and looked away again. 

The five of them jumped, and turned back toward the other side of the room, where I saw Stan speaking into a microphone. I assumed he was telling them to get back to work, because they all looked uneasily at each other, and then turned back toward the microphones, hands on their headphones. 

"Sometimes they turn the sound on when I'm in here," I said, crossing my arms as I sat next to Howie on the couch closest to the windows. 

"Stan won't do it if I'm here," Howie said, frowning a little. 

"I hate him," I sighed, wondering why some people seemed to live just to be annoying. 

"I bet," Howie said. "Lance told me about the paperwork they ambushed you with. He said JC was pissed." 

"Probably still is," I said, staring at Josh's ass and thinking about how good it felt to be home. 

The guys finished up a few minutes later, and then all five of them left the sound room. After a minute, we heard them in the hallway, talking about whatever they'd just been working on. They all seemed to be in good moods, as they often were when they'd been singing for a while, no matter how tiring it might have been. I even heard Justin's voice mixed in. Before we could catch more than the tiniest snatch of what they were saying, though, they came pouring into the bubble, all smiles and outstretched hands to welcome me back. 

"Jack!" Joey said, crushing the wind out of my lungs in one of his famous Joey bearhugs. He stepped aside immediately, and I heard him greeting Howie. 

"Hey bud," Chris said, hugging me quick and slapping me on the back as I did the same to him. He turned to say "hi" to Howie as well. 

"Um, welcome back," Justin said, standing uncertainly in front of me. I held out my hand and he took it, shaking it quickly before he nodded to Howie and then turned back toward the door. 

"Don't leave," Josh said quietly, walking past him. 

Justin stopped by the door, watching, as Josh walked quickly toward me and flung his arms around me, spinning me in a circle as he pressed his face against the side of mine. I squeezed him back, just as tightly, laughing as he spun me, and then his face was right before me, only inches from my own. I looked into his eyes, his bright blue eyes like flowers, oceans, glistening sapphires, and then his mouth was on mine, his tongue sliding in as I welcomed it. We broke for air as I heard Chris stage coughing behind us. 

"Welcome back," Josh whispered. "I missed you, and I love you." 

"Ditto," I whispered back, as Josh took my hand and turned toward the others. 

"Sorry for the tongue show," Josh said to the group, hugging me tightly against him. "Now that Jack is back, we want to talk to you about something." 

"Jack's pregnant?" Chris asked. 

"Who's the father?" Joey asked, the two of them grinning at each other. 

"Shut up, I'm being serious, " Josh said. "Jerks. Now be quiet." 

Justin was leaning against the wall near the door, hands in his pockets, watching quietly. Joey and Chris sat off to the side, poking fingers at each other while Joey chanted, "I'm not touching you, I'm not touching you," the two of them like little kids. Lance and Howie sat next to each other on one of the other couches, their knees touching as they pressed their legs to each other, but no other part of them was touching. The two of them looked so cute together, Lance so fair and light, and Howie so tanned and dark. 

"You guys know that Jack went home to deal with some, well, sort of major stuff," Josh began. 

"Yeah, we saw it in the paper," Joey said. 

"You ok?" Chris asked. 

"I'm fine," I said, waving a hand dismissively. "Please, let Josh finish." 

"Thanks," Josh said, kissing my cheek quickly to a chorus of groans. "When he was there, you know I flew out to see him, too, and we, um, we had a long talk. A talk about a lot of stuff, about, you know, how much we care about each other, and how much we love each other, and how hard it is for us to, um, be apart all the time, and how much we don't like it, and, you know, stuff like that." 

"OK, Josh," I said, putting a finger over his lips as he smiled. "What mumblemouth here is trying to say is trying to say is that I quit my job, packed up all my crap, and I'm moving in with Josh." 

"Finally," Chris said. 

"Thank God," Joey added. 

"Congratulations," Justin said, smiling. 

"Yeah," Lance added, standing up and hugging me. 

"You, too," I whispered, so softly only he could hear, as Joey and Chris jumped up to shake Josh's hand. 

I heard a sigh in the hallway, and saw Stan walking away, shaking his head. Justin followed out the door shortly after, and then Joey and Chris left, saying they had plans. Lance asked Howie to wait for him in the bubble while he went to go get changed, and Josh stopped him in the doorway. 

"Lance, can you guys wait for us?" Josh asked quietly. "And then maybe give us a ride?" 

"Sure," Lance answered, swallowing. Howie stared anxiously at Josh and I as Lance's gaze shifted uneasily over me and then away. 

"Thanks," Josh said, taking my hand again as he turned away from Lance. "Jack, could you, um, come to my dressing room? We need to talk." 

"Yeah, we do," I agreed, remembering what Howie had said when he came to pick me up. 

I followed Josh down the hall to his dressing room as he held my hand, leading me. Once we were inside, he hugged me again, and kissed me. I thought that it might have been the first time we'd been in the room, actually, that we hadn't been going at each other in some sort of hot sexual tangle, but Josh was throwing off a funny vibe. He was looking away, and swallowing, and kept my hand pressed between both of his as he shifted uneasily on his feet. I sat down, and Josh knelt on the floor in front of me. Oh, this was going to be bad. 

"Josh?" I asked, worried already. 

"Jack, I missed you so bad the past couple days," he began, glancing down at our hands. I watched my ring glint on his finger. "And I'm sorry I wasn't at the airport to pick you up, but Howie was right there, and I know you don't want me getting yelled at by Stan anymore, so I thought you wouldn't be mad." 

"I'm not mad, Josh," I said, shaking my head. His voice sounded strained, and when he looked at me his eyes were large and very wide. "Josh, Howie said something about the hospital." 

"He told you?" Josh asked, his eyebrows knitting together as his face looked panicked. He squeezed my hand almost convulsively. 

"No, Josh, he wouldn't," I said. "He told me that you had to, so I let it drop. Josh, is this about me? Is it something with Stan?" 

"No, it's not something with Stan, but it is about you," Josh said, swallowing. 

"Josh, please just tell me," I said, tilting his face back up to mine. "Josh, we promised that we were going to be honest with each other from now on, and we have. We've been talking everything through, and whatever this is, we can talk this through, too. Please, baby, just tell me." 

"Jack, I'm sorry," Josh said. "I'm afraid to tell you this, because I don't know what you're going to do, and I'm afraid that this is going to hurt you." 

"Josh, who are we going to see in the hospital?" I asked. "Just start there." 

"Peyton," Josh answered, staring into my eyes. "Peyton Rush." 

I felt the name flood over me, riding a wave crest of conflicting emotions. I hadn't spoken to Peyton since the day at the diner, when I had found out that he was my stalker, that he was the one sending me those notes and pictures. I didn't think Josh had spoken to him or seen him at all, ever. Josh and I had spoken about how I felt about Peyton, and how I thought I was over it. I was, damn it. No matter how I had felt about him at the time, when we were together, I was a different person now, and so was he. I had grown, and moved on, and he had just gotten hateful and vindictive. He had tried to hurt Josh and I, tried to hurt me by hurting Josh, and dealing with it had come between all my friends and I. 

But how did Josh know about him being in the hospital? 

"The staff at the hotel where he was staying found him collapsed in his room," Josh said quietly. "They keyed in because his bill is outstanding, and they thought he had left the hotel without paying. They took him to the emergency room." 

"Josh, how do you know this?" I asked. 

"He, um, he left your name, and the number at the studio here," Josh said. "He had it in his wallet, on a note that said to call you in the event of an emergency. Stacy took the message, and passed it on to me." 

"Why would he leave my name?" I asked, shaking my head. "Why would he have a note that said to call me?" 

"Jack, I don't think he has anyone else," Josh answered. "And he's out of money. He's completely broke, and he's been unemployed for a while. He has no health insurance, no way to pay for any of this, and they were keeping him at the county hospital. I had Stacy try to get hold of Basil Morgan, to ask about it, since I thought maybe Basil was paying Peyton's bills. I told Stacy not to let him know who she was, to pretend she was from the hospital, but Basil said he had no idea who he was. He, um, he got really indignant, and hung up the phone, the prick." 

"Josh?" I asked. He almost never swore, unless he was upset. 

"Jack, he knows about Peyton!" Josh said angrily. "He knows that he's sick, and that he has no one out here, and he pretended not to know him. I can't believe anyone can be that, that callous." 

"Josh," I said, unable to find any other words. I wrapped my arms around him, holding his head against my chest. I stroked his hair, and felt him sigh against me. 

"Jack, there's more," Josh said quietly. He leaned back again, so that he was looking at me. He wasn't crying, but his face looked anguished, and I caressed the sides of it with my hands as he held his hands on top of them. "The doctor says that Peyton is dying, Jack. They contacted his hospital at home, and they didn't know he had traveled. They said it wasn't even safe for him to have done that, and that he can't be put on a plane and sent back." 

I stared at Josh. I knew Peyton was dying, but not that he was dying right now. I felt cold inside, but didn't know why. 

"Jack, he's sinking fast," Josh said. "They don't think he's going to make it through the rest of the week. The cancer is all through him, even into his brain, and they said it's only a matter of time before he just collapses. They're not sure how he's holding on now, but he's still awake and conscious. Right now he's in a private room, but there isn't anything they can do besides make him comfortable." 

"Josh, when did all of this happen?" I asked. "Why didn't you tell me any of this? Why didn't you call me?" 

"It just happened yesterday, " Josh said. "I need to tell you something else, too, and then we need to decide what to do." 

"Why are we deciding, Josh?" I asked. If Peyton was conscious, he was capable of making his own decisions. 

"Because we're paying, Jack, " Josh answered. I felt the room spin around me, and Josh squeezed my hands again, reading my face, hearing my sharp intake of breath. "I paid Peyton's hotel bill, and I paid to have him moved to the private room. I'm paying for everything right now." 

"Josh, why?" I asked, standing. I needed to move, needed to stretch my legs, but the room was tiny. There was nowhere to go. "Josh, after what he did, what he tried to do? Why are you helping him?" 

"Jack, he's dying, and he doesn't have anyone else," Josh said, reaching out for me. I stepped into his arms, trying to understand. "Since I met you, since we started being together, I've tried to understand what I did to deserve you, who I had to thank for bringing you into my life, and I've been trying to find a way, any way, to give something back. Jack, what kind of person would I be if I turned my back on someone who needed help? We've talked so many times about forgiving each other for things, about forgiving Justin, and here's a chance to be the people we say we are." 

"Couldn't you just give some money to the SPCA?" I asked, smiling. Josh smiled along with me. 

"Jack, he left your name," Josh said. "Maybe, I don't know, maybe he's reaching out to you. Maybe he doesn't want to die with things still unresolved between the two of you after all this time. I know you said you're over him, and that you've put all that behind you, but you also told me that you missed your friend. You told me that it wasn't just a bad relationship, it was the loss of someone you had shared so much with. Maybe this is your chance, your last chance, to finally bury that feeling, too." 

"So you think I should see him?" I asked. 

"I think he's holding on because he's waiting for you," Josh answered. "I'm not telling you what to do, Jack, but this is your last chance. If there's anything else you wish you'd said, this is the only time you're going to have." 

I thought about it for a minute, thought about how much I loved Josh, and how much he loved me. He must love me to go through this. I knew that Josh was afraid that, deep down, I was still in love with Peyton, that I still wished things had worked out between us, because he told me that. I couldn't imagine what kind of strength it took for him to do this, to reach out to the person who had tried to hurt us the most, who had only acted toward us with malice. It must have been so hard for him to extend a hand to Peyton. 

"Josh, I love you so much," I said, and felt him squeeze me tightly. "I love you for always trying to be the better person, and I love you for how strong you are, how brave you always are, and how you don't take the easy way out if you think something is right. I'm not mad that you did this, Josh. I'm stunned, because I'm so proud of you I don't even have the words to express it. You're just amazing." 

"I love you, too, Jack," Josh answered. We stood for a minute, holding onto each other, and then Josh spoke, softly, against my neck. "What do you want to do?" 

"Why don't you get changed, and then we'll go to the hospital," I suggested. 

"OK," Josh said. 

He got changed quickly, and then we rejoined Lance and Howie in the bubble. The two of them looked up from their couch at us, both anxious, but they both noticed out locked hands and seemed a little settled. We piled into Lance's car and drove in silence to the hospital, Josh and I holding hands in the backseat. I wasn't sure what I was feeling. Everything inside of me was just twisted together, and I felt coldly hollow. I couldn't imagine what Peyton would have to say to me, or how I would find any words to speak to him. No one I knew had ever died before, especially not someone who I. 

Who I what? 

Had loved once? Used to love? Someone who hurt me? Someone who tried to hurt Josh and I both? 

We parked the car and went straight to his floor. Josh checked us in at the nurses station, and he, Lance, and Howie said that they'd wait for me in the lounge. 

"I'll be right here," Josh said. "If you need me. I love you." 

"I love you, too," I answered, kissing him. 

I walked slowly down the hall to the last room, knocked once, and then pushed open the door. 

 

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