JC's Hitchhiker

 

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CHAPTER 41

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After group ended, Lance drove around the city for a while, riding up and down the main streets in a kind of endless loop that he knew was bad for Los Angeles's already smog filled air. He didn't really have anywhere to go, and he didn't want to go back to the apartments yet. He knew that Josh and Jack were still at the studio, but he didn't want to go there, either. He didn't want to be around any of his friends right now, not because he was mad at them, but because he just couldn't face their concern. He hadn't expressed that thought to anyone, because he knew they meant well, but sometimes over the past couple of days he'd just felt unable to deal with everyone's overwhelming attention to his welfare, and their constant glances and silent questioning of whether or not he was ok. 

It wasn't that they weren't right to be concerned. Lance had no problem admitting that they were. If Jack hadn't found him when he did, and forced him to come to his senses, anything might have happened. Lance realized that he'd been sliding down a slippery slope, one that led to a dark place that he didn't really want to consider, a place that seemed unreal out here in his car in the bright light of day. His friends had every right to wonder if he was in pain, or in need, because he'd almost put them in a tremendous amount of pain, even if he did only recognize that in hindsight. What really bothered Lance about the whole thing wasn't that his friends were concerned for him, or even that their concern was ever-present and pervasive, hanging in the air like smoke around them. 

What bothered him was that he didn't deserve that concern. 

What had happened to him, what he had allowed Justin to do to him, was his own fault. It was what he had wanted, what he had always wanted, and never admitted. And the way that Justin did it, the way he degraded and humiliated him, and made him beg, well, he deserved that, too. It was his punishment, for wanting something so unnatural, for wanting something that everyone knew was wrong. And it was his punishment for lashing out at others, at his friends, because they were doing what he wanted to do, for not being afraid to do it, like he was. It was his punishment for being a hypocrite, and a liar. 

It didn't matter to Lance that Jack had told him it wasn't his fault, or that Dr. Centano had, or even that Justin had apologized, and said it was wrong of him to do that to Lance. Lance knew the truth, in his heart, in a dark place he would never admit. At the same time, though, he also knew that they were right. He knew that he had been a victim, that Justin had used his own feelings in a horrible way to hurt him, and that his feelings were not wrong, or immoral, or unnatural, despite what he had been told. He knew both things to be true, and there was his conflict. 

That was why Lance never spoke at group, or at least hadn't yet. He went to two different groups. One was for people who had been victims of sexual abuse. In that group, there were a lot of people who seemed to feel the same way he did, a lot of people who felt like they had somehow invited what had happened to them, that they asked for it or in some other way deserved it. Sometimes Lance wanted to agree with them, the people who said that. He wanted to open his mouth, and tell his story, explain what had happened to him and why, explain how he had wanted it and asked for it and even begged for it, down on his knees. Only someone flawed, someone who was defective inside, would have done that, and allowed that to happen to them, and that was how Lance knew that he deserved it. But at other times he wanted to speak up and agree with the other people, the people who said that no one deserved to be treated that way, that no one ever asked to have a bad thing happen to them. 

The other group he went to was for people who thought they might be gay, or bisexual. It was supposed to help you sort out your feelings, or come to terms with them, and let other people support you either way, but all it seemed to do, like the other group, was make Lance more confused. Some of the people in the group, who had been coming for a long time, seemed very at peace with who they were. They told their stories, and talked about the feelings they had inside, and how they had come to terms with them. More than anything, Lance wanted to be one of these people. He wanted to understand his feelings. He wanted men, thought of touching men, and looking at their bodies, the way he had with Justin, but he also still thought about meeting the right girl someday, and getting married, and having children. Was that something he really still wanted, or just something he'd made himself think he wanted for so long that he couldn't let go of the idea? Some of the people in the group were bitterly, almost violently opposed to the feelings they had inside, and told stories that horrified Lance, stories about punishing themselves, cutting themselves or worse, to drive those feelings away, or about finally giving in to them and going on wild sexual binges with hordes of strangers that left them feeling even more dirty and ashamed. Lance was terrified that he might end up like one of these men, who sat slumped in their chairs at group, thin, haggard, dark circles standing out under their eyes. 

Lance never spoke because, in both groups, he felt conflicted. Both groups just left him feeling confused about what was inside him, and what he should do about it. He knew, though, that someday he was going to have to make a decision. Dr. Centano had mentioned that he had not shared at group, and had asked if he felt uncomfortable, or if there were some other groups that he might feel more at home in, but Lance agreed that these were the groups he should work with. These were the issues he needed to work through. He was just unsure, and a little afraid. Sometimes he found himself more afraid of actually making a decision than he did of what that decision might actually be. 

Lance knew that whatever decision he made, his friends would still be there for him. They'd support him, and help him however they could, but sometimes, like this morning, he just couldn't take being around them, couldn't stand the way they looked at him so protectively. He'd felt it when Justin walked in this morning, and he wondered how Britney could possibly not have seen it. As soon as they saw Justin, the others stopped what they were doing, muffins halfway to their mouths, coffee cups paused in mid- swallow. Lance had seen Joey's eyes squint a little, even as Jack's widened anxiously. Josh froze, turning to stone, his face sliding shut, cutting off all feeling within, and Chris's jaw set firmly, his teeth grinding. The tone in the room had immediately shifted from good-natured, light-hearted humor to tension and barely suppressed anger, just because Justin had walked through the door. 

Justin. 

Now, there was an issue Lance was unsure of. If he felt confused during group, he couldn't even begin to describe how he felt when Justin walked into the room, any room, near him. So many emotions were layered on top of each other, swirled together like paint, that the whole picture was completely obscured. When Lance saw Justin he felt shame, revulsion, betrayal, and fear, but he was even more disturbed because of the other things he felt, things like longing, and even a little flutter of lust. Every time he saw Justin he felt like the entire world was turning beneath him. Staring into Justin's wide blue eyes, his tanned skin, the way his chest pushed out his shirt, Lance felt like he was spinning out of control, and so he did what he had done this morning. He spoke to Justin as little as possible, and practically ran away from him. The other guys thought he was cutting Justin off, and, really, he was, but it wasn't out of hurt or spite. It was because he had no idea what he might say, and that scared him, too. 

He found himself at a mall, walking around aimlessly. He didn't need to buy anything, really, but he almost never did. When he did want a book, or a CD, or a movie, he usually just ordered it online, or asked one of the band assistants to pick it up for him. He didn't have Justin or JC's passion for buying clothes, or Chris's video game addiction, or Joey's comic book hobby. He had no idea what Jack spent money on. Coffee, maybe? Lance usually didn't even go shopping, unless he was with one of the other guys, or a holiday of some sort was coming up. Strolling through the mall, he was thankful that no one recognized him, and that he could just have some quiet time to take a breather. Dr. Centano kept telling him that it was important that he have places of his own, places where he felt safe, to retreat to, so that he could collect himself, and right now the mall would do as well as anywhere else. 

He had wandered into a pet store, and was staring at some rather unhappy looking fish, when his cell phone rang. 

"This is Lance," he answered quietly, looking around. Nope, no one was paying any attention but the fish. 

"Lance, hey, it's Howie!" 

Howie's voice was warm, and seemed to roll out of the phone and wash over Lance. He wasn't sure why, but just hearing Howie he suddenly felt calmer, less tense somehow. Jack had asked earlier who Lance was going out with, and Lance had told him it was just a friend. Technically, Howie was barely that, more of a friendly acquaintance, but Lance felt something when they had talked the other night, some sort of bond, and maybe something else. Something he wasn't ready to admit he felt yet. 

"Hi," Lance said shyly, feeling self-conscious, as if the fish were watching him. 

"You said to call this afternoon," Howie reminded him. Lance could hear Howie smiling over the phone. "Are we still on for dinner?" 

"Sure," Lance said, smiling goofily at no one. "Where do you want to go?" 

Howie thought it over for a moment. Lance tried to picture him, but nothing came to mind except his face. Howie's face was kind of rugged, with firm lines, the way Lance had always wanted his own, rounder face to look. Lance's own face still had a young, boyish look to it, but Howie had the face of a man, a good looking man. He had brown eyes, and a full mouth that seemed easily given to smiling, flashing his perfectly straight, blindingly white teeth. It was his eyes that Lance saw in his mind more than anything. They just seemed so open, and warm, like the eyes of a puppy. 

Not like Justin's eyes at all. 

The thought of Justin was like icewater poured down Lance's back, and all of the good feelings he was just experiencing drained into the floor as he realized that Howie was speaking and he hadn't caught a word. 

"Howie, I'm sorry, I didn't catch any of that," Lance said, shaking his head. 

"You ok?" Howie asked, concerned. 

"Yeah, yeah," Lance said quickly, wishing he didn't feel so stupid and tongue tied. "It's just been a long day. You must think I'm a huge moron." 

Howie laughed, a strong, full laugh, and Lance started to feel good again. Howie was laughing with him, not at him. 

"I know what that's like," Howie said. "Some days I'm so tired I can't even remember my own name. You sure you still want to go out?" 

"Absolutely," Lance said, suddenly worried that Howie might cancel on him. "I mean, if you still want to." 

"Of course I do," Howie said. "What I was saying before was that maybe we could head out to Santa Monica, down to the pier. It's a little early for dinner, but maybe we could walk around first, hit the park, maybe ride the coaster, and then grab some seafood." 

"That sounds great," Lance said. "I'm out at the mall right now, but do you maybe want me to pick you up? There's no point in taking two cars." 

"Actually, that would be great," Howie said enthusiastically. "I've been using drivers, since I'm at the hotel." 

"I'll be there in about twenty minutes," Lance said, checking his watch. "Should I wait for you in the lobby?" 

"Why don't you just come up?" Howie said. "I'll leave word at the desk." 

"OK, I'll be right there," Lance said, walking out of the pet store. The fish watched him go. 

"Can't wait," Howie said. 

Lance hung up, and then tried to figure out what that meant. Why was he so excited to spend a night hanging out with Howie? He barely knew him. They had spoken maybe a few dozen times, and the other night in the garden was the longest one. Lance sighed. Maybe it was just that Howie was nice to him, and didn't seem to want anything from him other than an evening of fun. Maybe he was just excited to have a friend who didn't know about everything that was going on. A friend who just took him at face value, and liked him for who he was, and wouldn't spend the evening worrying about him. 

He sped over to the hotel, barely aware of the traffic around him. Stopping at the desk in the lobby, he was directed to go right upstairs, where Mr. Dorough was waiting for him. Lance fidgeted the entire way up in the elevator. Checking himself in the reflection of the doors, he made sure that his shirt was straightened, and his hair was ok, and then he stopped himself. What was he doing? He was just going out with a friend. This wasn't a date or anything. 

Was it? 

Was that why he felt like this when he thought about Howie? Was that why he felt all fluttery and light headed, so tongue tied and clumsy? He didn't want to have these feelings, not about a guy, but suddenly he was. That didn't tell him how Howie felt, though. Howie didn't feel like this, couldn't possibly. It would be too much to hope for. Right after he thought that, Lance paused, realizing that, just for a second, he had hoped for it. Just for a second. 

He knocked on Howie's door, and his breath caught when Howie pulled it open. Howie was wearing a green silk shirt, with the top couple of buttons undone. There was a flash of collarbone, and the smallest glimpse of his chest, smooth and tanned, his skin a light caramel, almost like honey. What couldn't be seen through the opening of the shirt collar could be easily imagined, as the shirt clung to Howie's chest, the sweeping curves of his pecs pushing it out. It clung to his arms, as well, loose at the forearms as it gathered at the cuffs, but tight on Howie's upper arms, bulging as his biceps shifted. Lance's eyes swept up guiltily from Howie's chest, sliding up his strong neck to his face, and then they met Howie's eyes, which sparkled. Lance felt almost like he was falling into them. 

"Hey," Howie said, smiling broadly, reaching out to shake Lance's hand. "That was fast. Do you want to come in, or just head out?" 

"Well, um, if you're ready, we could just go," Lance said, suddenly uncomfortably anxious at the idea of being alone with Howie behind a closed door. 

"Yeah, I'm ready," Howie said. "Let's head out, then." 

They rode the elevator in silence. Lance glanced over at Howie, but when Howie glanced at him, Lance looked away, to the floor. When Lance glanced at Howie again, he saw Howie's eyes go sliding quickly away to check the numbers of the floors they were passing by. Howie danced back and forth on his feet, not lifting them, just kind of rocking, while Lance fidgeted, picking imaginary lint off of his clothing. 

"So, um, didn't you used to have long hair?" Lance blurted. He wanted to fill the silence somehow, and that was the first thing that came into his mind. He mentally smacked himself. That's how he chose to start a conversation? With that? 

"I got it cut," Howie said, mentally smacking himself as well. Yeah, better tell Lance he got it cut, because, you know, it wasn't obvious or anything. Lance probably thought he was an idiot, and what he said next certainly wouldn't help. "Didn't you used to be a blond?" 

"I let it go back to my natural color, for my movie," Lance said, wondering if Howie had been calling him stupid by making an off-handed blond joke. 

"Oh, yeah, I forgot about that," Howie said, smiling. "You worked on that with Joey, right?" 

"Yeah, it was a lot of fun," Lance answered, smiling. His movie was safe territory. He'd done so many interviews about it that he almost felt like he could discuss it on autopilot. He discovered, though, that he didn't want to. He wanted whatever he talked to Howie about to be important, not just trivial stuff. He realized he didn't even know anything about him, really. "Tell me about your movie, though. You said you were doing a cameo?" 

"Yeah, it's just a little thing," Howie said, shrugging as they stepped off the elevator and crossed the lobby. "Practically a walk on, but it's been kind of fun. I have some lines, and I'm working with some good people." 

"Do you want to act?" Lance asked, curious. He wasn't sure about his own acting. It was a fun side project, but he already had a lot on his plate with the group, and the other groups he managed. 

"I'm not sure," Howie answered. "I mean, it's been fun, but I haven't done as much as you." 

"Me?" Lance asked. "I have the movie, and I've done a couple cameos, but that's it." 

"No, you did television, too, " Howie reminded him. "I remember seeing you on '7th Heaven'. That's more than I've done." 

Lance smiled, while wondering at the same time that Howie seemed so informed about his career, and blushed a little. 

"I'm sure you're good, too," Lance said, piloting the car out of the hotel lot. "So, um, how is your hand?" 

"Oh, that," Howie said, holding it out. "It scabbed up a little, but, you know, at least it isn't broken." 

The two of them laughed, Lance glancing over to verify that Howie's hand actually was ok. 

"I still can't believe I did that," Howie said. "It was really, really stupid." 

"Well, you seemed kind of upset," Lance said, not sure if it was his place to say anything else. He felt a little of his own darkness closing over him suddenly. "Sometimes when people are upset they do dumb things, things they wouldn't normally do." 

"Yeah, I guess," Howie said, noticing that Lance suddenly looked dimmer, as if a shadow had passed over his face. Howie wondered if it was something he had said. "It was just a band argument. You know how those go, I'm sure." 

"Yeah," Lance said, feeling worse, thinking about the kinds of things his own group had been arguing about. 

"You know, I have this idea, " Howie began, smiling at Lance. "Why don't we not talk about our bands for tonight, huh? Just for now, why don't you be Lance, and I'll be Howie, and Nsync and the Backstreet Boys can just take care of themselves for a night." 

"I think that's a great idea, " Lance said, smiling. Howie had somehow known exactly the right thing to say. 

Before long they were cruising through the neon archway over the entrance to the pier, nosing their car through the traffic with everyone else. They drove past the famous carousel, with its forty-four horses, and a few of the stores and restaurants, before parking the car along with everyone else's in the main lot, determined to pretend, just for tonight, that they were two normal guys, just hanging out and having a good time. After Lance paid the parking fee, they went straight to Pacific Park, the amusement park. The sky was darkening to a dusky twilight, the lights on the rides gleaming, and it gave everything a dreamlike, unreal feeling. 

They smiled as they walked by the glowing octopus on the sign, paying for their wristbands. It wasn't a large park by any means, only a dozen rides, but they went on all of them, even the little kid rides. They rode the roller coaster three times, so that they could experience the front, middle, and the back. Lance found himself, for the first time in weeks, laughing openly and really meaning it. Watching Howie try to win something, anything, at the games, he found himself almost doubled over, and wondered if anyone could really possibly be that bad, or if Howie was throwing the games on purpose, just to see him laugh. 

Howie, for his part, was, more or less. When he had talked to Lance in the garden the other night, and again on the way here, he had noticed that Lance seemed troubled, and he wanted to do what he could to lift that. If he had to throw a couple games, and make a fool of himself for the barkers, just to see Lance smile, well, maybe it was worth it. When it came time for the ferris wheel, though, he wasn't acting. 

"Lance, we don't really have to ride that," Howie said, shaking his head as they looked up at it, watching the spinning lights. 

"Howie, we've done every ride," Lance said. "Come on, it'll be fun. You can't go to a park and not go on the ferris wheel. Besides, we'll be able to see the whole pier, and the city, and we'll be able to see the ocean, too. It'll be fun!" 

"No, no it won't," Howie said, shaking his head again. 

"Howie, are you scared of the ferris wheel?" Lance asked, suddenly realizing it. "We don't have to go on if you don't want to." 

"No, no, of course I'm not scared," Howie said, forcing himself to grin. He walked quickly toward the line. "Come on, Lance." 

Lance followed him. 

"Howie, we really don't have to do this if you don't want to," he began, but Howie held up a hand, stopping him. 

"Come on, Lance, it'll be fun, like you said," Howie said, grinning again. 

Lance shrugged, not sure why Howie was suddenly determined to get on the ferris wheel when he obviously didn't want to, but he wasn't going to keep arguing it. Maybe Howie didn't want to look weak, or scared. Maybe he wanted to get on the ferris wheel to prove something to himself. Or maybe, maybe, he wanted to because he knew it was something Lance wanted to do. Lance shook his head, realizing that it couldn't possibly be that. As they climbed into the gondola, sitting across from each other with the pole in between them, Howie leaned forward, and wrapped both hands around it. The wheel began to move, and Lance saw that Howie was gritting his teeth, and had paled, as much as it was possible for him to beneath his natural skin tone and his deep tan. 

"You're not ok, are you?" Lance asked quietly. 

"Um, no?" Howie said quietly, glancing over his shoulder at the falling scenery. He sucked in a quick breath, and it hissed through his teeth. He turned back to Lance, and his eyes were wide. "I'm a little scared of heights." 

"Really, I hadn't noticed," Lance said, smiling. He started to shift toward Howie, and Howie's eyes bulged. 

"Don't get up!" Howie blurted, practically hyperventilating. "It shakes the gondola!" 

"I'm not getting up," Lance said, smiling. "I just thought I'd slide over a little closer to you. The ferris wheel is completely safe, you know. People ride it all the time." 

"Yeah, sure they do, crazy people," Howie muttered. 

"Howie, at least open your eyes," Lance said. Just as he said that, and Howie started to open them, the wheel stopped. They were the highest gondola. 

"Oh, Jesus," Howie whimpered, gripping the center pole so hard his fingers were turning white. Lance was getting a little concerned, and he reached out to fold his hand over the top of Howie's. 

"Howie, it's ok, they're just letting some people out, or some more people in, or something," Lance said. His hand shaking, Howie let go of the pole, and gripped Lance's hand tightly. Lance found that he didn't mind this at all, and he carefully took Howie's hand between both of his, squeezing it gently. "Howie, it'll be over in a minute. Why did you get on here if you didn't want to?" 

"Because you wanted to," Howie answered, finally opening his eyes. Lance glanced away, quickly, feeling as if he might cry suddenly. Howie continued. "You were having such a good time, I didn't want you to miss out on something." 

Lance glanced up, and felt himself falling into Howie's eyes. They seemed to lock onto his own, to bore into him and hold his gaze, as if he was stuck. Lance could still feel Howie's hand shaking a little between both of his, and Howie's other hand still had the center pole in a white knuckled grip, but Howie's eyes were filled with nothing but concern for Lance. Neither of them noticed that the wheel had started moving again. 

"Howie, I, um, I appreciate you thinking of me," Lance began, swallowing as he felt a strange lump rising in his throat. "But you didn't have to do this for me." 

"I know I didn't have to," Howie said, swallowing as well. He leaned in a little closer, and Lance discovered that he was leaning in as well. "I wanted to." 

"But why?" Lance asked. "Why would you do that just for me?" 

Howie swallowed again, and his pink tongue flicked out to wet his bottom lip. 

Before he could answer, though, the wheel bumped to a stop, and they realized they were now the lowest bucket. 

"That's it, guys, everybody out," the operator said, grinning at them. 

Just like that, the spell was broken. Lance dropped Howie's hand and jumped up, leading the way out of the gondola. Howie, unsure of what had just happened, jumped up quickly to follow. As much as he hated the ferris wheel, he wouldn't have minded a bit if it had gone around just one more time. He hurried to catch up with Lance, who was practically running down the exit walkway. 

"Lance, wait up," he called, and Lance jerked to a stop. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was walking so fast," Lance said quickly. What had happened on the ferris wheel? What had Howie been about to say? Lance wondered why he was wishing that the wheel had gone around just one more time. He was sure he had felt something between he and Howie, but was it what he thought? 

"It's ok," Howie said, smiling. "I, um, thank you for helping me through that. I'm not really good with heights." 

"You mentioned that," Lance said, smiling. He pointed upward. "You mentioned it right about there, as a matter of fact. Now, do you want to go grab some dinner?" 

"I'd love to," Howie said. 

They had a nice, quite dinner in the back of one of the seafood restaurants, laughing and sharing a bottle of wine over some tuna steaks and salads. During dinner, they both opened up a little, and talked about themselves, their families, and how they had come to be where they were. In keeping with their earlier agreement, they didn't really discuss either band, but by the end of dinner, Lance felt very close to Howie, and Howie felt the same way. After dinner, they walked around the pier, peeking into the shops, and stopping at the arcade, where Howie found a photo booth. 

"Come on, it'll be fun!" Howie said, pulling Lance inside. 

"No, I hate getting pictures taken," Lance protested, allowing himself to be pulled into the booth. 

"I don't see why," Howie said, pulling the curtain closed. "Now smile!" 

Just before the camera flashed, Howie jabbed a tickling hand into Lance's side, and Lance squirmed, screaming with laughter, as he tried to bat it away. When the pictures came out, both of them were grinning in them, and looked like the happiest people in the world. Howie ripped the little strip of four pictures neatly in half, and tucked half into his pants pocket as he handed the other half to Lance. Lance tucked it immediately into his shirt pocket, and the two of them began walking to the car. 

On the way back to the hotel, they didn't really speak, both a little tired from their long days, but feeling good about the evening. When they pulled in, Howie got out, and was surprised to see Lance following him, handing his keys to the valet. 

"I thought I'd, you know, see you to your door, if that's ok," Lance said, looking at his feet quickly before looking back up at Howie. 

"Is that the fabled Southern charm they teach you in Mississippi?" Howie asked, laughing. 

"Something like that," Lance said, following him inside. 

They were inside the elevator before either spoke again. 

"I had a really good time tonight," Howie began. 

"Me, too," Lance said. "Thanks for inviting me." 

"Thanks for coming," Howie said, smiling. "I'm still in town for a couple of days. Do you want to catch a movie tomorrow?" 

"I'd love to," Lance said, his whole face lighting up. 

They arrived at Howie's floor, and Lance walked Howie to his room. Howie paused in the open doorway. 

"Well, um, goodnight, Lance, " he began, staring into Lance's eyes. "Unless, maybe, do you want to come in for a second?" 

Lance stared at Howie, and felt that lump in his throat again. He did want to go in, suddenly, he did more than anything, but then he felt something else rise up in his throat as well. 

"It's really late," Lance blurted, grabbing Howie's hand and shaking it. "Goodnight, Howie. I'll call you tomorrow." 

Lance turned and ran back toward the elevators, his hand tingling with the memory of Howie's touch. 

Howie watched him go, a little disappointed, and then wondered aloud, "What the hell was that?" 

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CHAPTER 42

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Josh practically pulled my arm from the socket dragging me by the hand out of the studio. He didn't say anything until we were in the car, when he pounded the steering wheel in frustration. 

"Those assholes!" he said, hitting the wheel again. "They had no right to do that to you, no right!" 

I watched him for a moment, unsure of whether I should say anything. Josh turned to me, and I saw that his eyes were wet. 

"Jack, I'm sorry," he said, taking my hand. "I'm so sorry they did that to you. I didn't know." 

"Josh, there's nothing for you to apologize for," I said, shrugging. "You didn't know they were going to do that." 

"But they had no right to ask you to do that without asking me," he said. "They don't know you. They don't know anything about you. They had no right to just assume you're going to hurt us somehow." 

"No one knows me anymore," I said, looking away. 

"What do you mean by that?" Josh asked. I didn't answer. "Jack, what did you mean?" 

I sighed. 

"No one knows me, Josh, but everyone keeps talking about me," I said, turning back to him. "It's like I've become a non-person. All those stories, and that stuff on TV, they keep talking about JC's boyfriend, like I'm your Jag or something. It's like overnight I don't exist anymore." 

Josh pulled me against him, laying my head on his shoulder. 

"Jack, I didn't know you felt that way," he said, stroking my hair. "Did I, did I do something, or say something? Or did one of the guys?" 

"No, Josh, no, it wasn't you, " I said. "Like you said in there, you treat me like an equal. You always have, and the guys have, too. But to everyone else, it's like I'm an accessory, or a hanger on, or something. I just feel kind of lost right now." 

Josh pulled my face up, and kissed me softly on the lips. I stared into his bright blue eyes, and saw only love and concern as he stared back at me. 

"It's only because people don't know you," Josh said. "That's all. Besides, it doesn't matter what everyone else thinks. It's too easy to get caught up in all of this, Jack, too easy to spend all your time worrying about what people think about you and what they're saying on TV. None of it matters. I love you, and you love me, and that's all that matters to me." 

"I love you, too, Josh," I said, leaning in to kiss him again. We held it a little longer this time, my hand carefully stroking the side of his face, as I felt his tongue dart into my mouth and then out again. Abruptly I became aware of the gearshift poking me uncomfortably in the stomach, and I broke the kiss, pulling away. "Maybe we should go get some dinner." 

"Good idea," he said. "I need to call the guys when we get back, too. We have to be back in the studio tomorrow." 

"I thought you guys could pick your own times for work?" I asked, as he started the car. 

"Well, we can, but we haven't been in there in a couple weeks," Josh said, reminding me. "We're paying to rent all this studio time, so we need to use it, and I'm doing more producing on this album, too, so I can't really slack off too much." 

"Yeah, you guys have been kind of distracted these past couple weeks, huh?" I agreed, smiling. Inside I knew it was my fault, at least partially. 

"I don't regret it for a second," Josh said, putting my hand under his on the gearshift again. Oh yeah, I had missed this car. "Should we invite anyone else? Lance maybe?" 

"Lance already has plans," I said, grinning. 

"With who?" Josh asked, noticing the mirthful expression on my face. "Spill, Jack! I have ways of making you talk!" 

"You have ways of making me spill, too," I said, grinning even wider as he turned bright red. "As long as you don't say anything to Lance, he's out with a friend. Howie, from the Backstreet Boys." 

"What?" Josh asked, staring at me. "When did they become friends?" 

"I don't know, but Lance seemed pretty excited about it," I said. "He was blushing, even." 

"Wait a minute," Josh said, glancing at me again. "It's not like, you know, a date, is it?" 

"Lance didn't say it was, but he looked kind of excited," I answered, shrugging. "Is Howie, you know, batting for our team?" 

"I don't know," Josh said, shrugging. "If he is, well, good for Lance." 

We had a quiet dinner. The restaurant wasn't what I would have picked, filled as it was with agents and stars and the like, but Josh figured the best place for us to get an uninterrupted meal would be one where we were part of the crowd, and, of course, he was right. Our entrance and trip to our table, predictably enough, set off a flurry of discussions, but most people smiled at us, and we were surprised halfway through the meal with a bottle of wine that Sharon Stone sent over. 

"I didn't know you knew her, " I said, as we returned to our table after walking over briefly to thank her and say hello. She seemed a lot nicer in person than I had always thought she would be. 

"I don't," Josh said, shrugging. "Apparently we're Hollywood's favorite newlyweds." 

"Just what I dreamed of being when I was a little boy," I said, clapping my hands and grinning. 

"You said you got a call from your mother," Josh began carefully. "Everything ok?" 

"As much as it ever is," I answered, sighing. "She's upset because people at the club saw us on TV last night, and I didn't even think to call her to tell her I'd be coming out, or that I was dating a celebrity." 

"Wait, I thought you were out to your family," Josh said, that tiny cute frown line appearing between his eyebrows. 

"Oh, I am, but you don't really think they tell their friends about it, do you?" I said, laughing. "It's not biggie. She'll get over it." 

"You sure you're ok with it?" Josh asked, taking my hand. 

"Josh, on the mother scale, this was a light shower," I said. "Not even worth a thunderstorm warning." 

"If you're sure," he said, returning his hand to his silverware. "My mom called, too. She wanted to tell you that they're very proud of us, and they love us both. She wants you to call her, when you get time." 

I chuckled dryly, shaking my head. 

"What?" Josh asked, smiling as the waiter brought our dessert. 

"Nothing," I said, shaking my head. "It's just a weird contrast between your parents and mine. My mom is all like, 'Oh, dear, what are we going to put in the Christmas cards?' and yours is like, 'Gee, I guess if you love each other, it's ok. Go have sex in the boathouse.'" 

"My mom knew we were out in the boathouse all those times?" he blurted loudly, jaw hanging open. 

"Good God, Josh, she's a grown woman," I said, giggling. "How do you think she got three kids?" 

"Maybe I should call my mom later, too," Josh said, blushing. 

"You're so cute when you're embarrassed," I said, returning my attention to my dessert. I though there was cheesecake buried in it somewhere, under all the flowers and oddly shaped pieces of chocolate protruding from it. 

"Hey, Jack, I need to talk to you about something else, too," Josh began carefully. I looked up and saw that his face looked very serious. "We can wait until later, if you want." 

"No, now is fine," I said, still trying to figure out how to actually reach my dessert beneath the protective cage of garnish. Maybe this was how everyone stayed so thin out here. "What's up?" 

"Remember what you were saying earlier, about how nobody really knows you?" he asked. I nodded. "Maybe we should give an interview. Or a couple, like a television and a print." 

"Josh, I don't know," I began. "I mean, I already feel like too many people are looking at me, and I'm kind of a private person." 

"I know, but just think about it for a second," Josh said quickly, taking my hand. "I think it might be good if we just kind of spelled everything out for people. It might educate some people, or open their minds a little, and it would show people that you're not just this, like, boy toy who follows me around." 

I thought about it for a second. 

"Josh, I can see the good points to that, but remember when Ellen and Anne Heche started going around telling everyone how happy they were, and how great it was to be lesbians, and suddenly they were everywhere?" I asked. Josh kind of shrugged and nodded. "I don't want us to become poster children, Josh. I don't mind being gay, but I don't want it to be all that people see when they look at me, and I don't want that to happen to you, either. I mean, already it's like, Justin is the cute one, and Lance is the serious one, and you, now you're the gay one. Is that what you want?" 

"No, not really," Josh said, looking down for a second. "But what I was thinking was we do this, just one time, and that's it. We make it clear that yes, we know people want to know, and that's why we're talking, but that this is our private life, and we'd like for it to be left that way." 

"That sounds kind of like it might work," I said, thinking it over. I didn't really believe that people would leave us alone after that, but maybe it would serve to remove some of the suddenly glaring spotlight I felt like we were under. I also didn't point out that it might be a little difficult saying we wanted our private life left alone after we'd thrown it out on camera for all the world to see. "This is your kind of thing. How do we go about setting something like this up?" 

Josh smiled, looking relieved. 

"Out in the car I have a list from our publicists," Josh began. "It's all the people who have contacted the label, and who they work for. I think we should go through it and decide who we want to talk to." 

"OK, that sounds fine," I said. Maybe this really all would work out. I stared down at my dessert. "Hey Josh?" 

"Yeah?" he asked, looking up again. 

"How the hell do I get to my cheesecake?" 

We both laughed, and the seriousness of the moment passed. We finished dinner and headed home, back to the apartments. No one was in the courtyard as always, and the lights were off in most of the apartments, except for Justin's, where I could see the flicker of a television. There was a note stuck to our door, from Joey and Chris. 

"J Squared: We fixed your table. Are out clubbing. Call if you want to join us." 

"You want to go out?" Josh asked, unlocking the door. I wasn't sure why we bothered to lock it, since no one could get past the gates but us, and Jackie gave out the spare keys with abandon. 

"I'd rather just stay in," I said. 

As promised, the table was in great shape, as long as you didn't get down and check the underside. There was a post it note stuck to the top. 

"No Sex on Table." 

"They're funny," Josh said, grinning, as he pulled his phone out. 

"Oh, are they?" I asked, giggling as I turned on one of the lamps. 

There were post it notes all over the room, in both Joey and Chris's handwriting. "No Sex on Counter." "Sex on Couch OK." "No Sex on Coffeetable." "No Sex on TV (unless is on Spice Channel)." There was even one stuck in the middle of the floor: "Sex on Carpet OK - Ouch! Rugburn!" I laughed softly as I walked through the apartment, pulling them down from every surface in every room. They must have used an entire pad, and I was already wondering what we were going to do to get back at them while Josh called everyone's apartments to tell them they had to be back at the studio at nine in the morning. 

"Tell Chris we'll run at seven," I said, stripping down to my undershirt and boxers. I settled onto the couch and began to look through the stack of papers Josh had handed me, marking with a pen the ones I thought sounded promising. "Rikki Lake called? Jesus, Josh, we want an interview, not a makeover." 

"You're mean," Josh giggled. As I watched, his face changed, the soft, laughing curves sliding into hard planes. I knew who he was calling now. "Hello, Justin. We have to be at the studio at nine tomorrow morning, ready to work. Goodbye. What? Well, come after you drop her off at the airport, then. Goodbye, Justin." 

"That was a little harsh," I said, watching him hang up the telephone. "You ok?" 

"I'm fine," he said, settling in next to me on the couch. I leaned back against him, and he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer. "I'm sorry. I just, I get upset when I talk to him. I'm still angry, and I don't like to think about it." 

"Then let's think about something else," I said, setting the papers aside and reaching for the television remote control. "We haven't just had a quiet night with the TV in a while." 

"You're right," Josh sighed. "Tell you what. Find something to watch, and I'll get us drinks, and make some popcorn." 

Josh and I settled in on the couch for a quiet night of cuddling, feeding each other popcorn, and watching television. We had wildly different taste in shows, but still managed to find something for both of us to watch, and we managed to avoid the news on every channel. We also called his mother, passing the phone back and forth between the two of us as we talked to her. Karen mainly just wanted to touch base, see how we were bearing up under the new strain, and let us know that we could come out to the house any time if we needed to get away, even if only one of us could make it. I thanked her, and promised to think about it, while again thinking of the marked differences between my real family and the one who had apparently completely adopted me. 

When Josh started to yawn I figured we were done watching the television and shut it off, over his protests that he really wasn't that tired, and he had only closed his eyes for a second. We cleaned up our snack mess, brushed our teeth side by side in the bathroom, and climbed into bed. Josh snuggled up against me, my back spooned to his front, and both of us sighed as we realized that we could hear Justin and Britney's bed hitting the wall again. 

"Just a second," I said, sliding out of bed again. 

I padded barefoot in my boxers through the living room to the stereo and switched it on, just quiet enough to cover their noise, but not loud enough to keep us from falling asleep. Glancing out the window over the stereo, I saw Lance down in the courtyard, standing in front of his door and looking at a narrow piece of paper in his hands. I thought about opening the door to ask if he was ok, but then he opened his door and went inside. I decided to ask him tomorrow as I walked back to the bedroom. 

"Good idea," Josh said, holding the sheet up for me as I slid back into bed, pressing my bare shoulders against his warm, rounded chest. He kissed my shoulder, and then the back of my neck, his little beard scraping across my skin, contrasting with the silken feeling of his smooth, wet lips. 

"Worked every time in college," I smiled, leaning into him as I felt his hands brushing lightly up and down my sides, playing over my skin. "That feels good, Josh." 

"How good?" he purred softly, his head on my shoulder, his lips brushing over my neck. His hands continued to roam over my body, feather light, just brushing over my skin with enough pressure to offer the promise of something possible, but not delivering yet. 

"Keep it up and I'll show you," I answered. I may have been sleepy ten minutes ago, but my whole body was waking up under his smooth touch. 

Josh laughed softly against me, his breath puffing out over my neck, his abs crunching against my back. His hands were sliding over me everywhere at once, not stopping long enough to pinch or press or squeeze, just long enough to brush over my nerves, lightly tickling over me, setting my entire body on fire as I pressed back against him. I felt his steely hard shaft throbbing against my ass, and deliberately ground back against him. He groaned, and his fingers and hands began to slide over me with more urgency, brushing over the curves of my pecks, running up and down my abs, fluttering over my arms, sliding down my sides, brushing over my nipples. 

I felt his fingers dip below the waistband of my boxers, brushing over the top of my ass, before his hands slid together around the front of my pelvis. He wrapped both hands around my cock, which was hard and wet in his fists, and he began to slowly jerk me off from behind, stroking smoothly up and down my shaft as he kissed my neck and shoulders over and over. I groaned, pressing against him, feeling his chest and arms moving against my back as his hands continued to pump me, their movement hindered by my boxers. Josh let go of my cock and began to slide my boxers down with both hands, his body sliding beneath the sheet as he pulled the cotton down my legs. As he sank down, his tongue darted out, and ran down the length of my spine from my neck to the small of my back. 

"Josh," I sighed, my eyes closed. "Why do we even bother wearing clothes to bed?" 

"I don't know," he answered from beneath the sheets. I felt his hands on my hips, gently rolling me onto my back. "They just get in the way." 

I felt his hands sliding up over my legs, pulling them apart a little, and then his tongue washed over my cock, from base to head. I thought he'd take it into his mouth, like he usually did when he was down there, but his tongue slid right off the end of my cock and began climbing my belly, running the length of my abdomen up the crease that all guys with any definition have down the center of them. His head burst out from under the sheet, his hair a mess, as his tongue lapped up over my neck, and then his mouth settled onto mine as he again wrapped both of his soft, strong hands around my cock, moving them in two directions at once. My moans were muffled, covered by his lips and tongue, and I realized that he had also shucked his boxer briefs when I felt his hard cock rubbing against my thigh, the head dripping a little, leaving sticky wet kisses near my hip. 

"You like that?" he asked, his chest resting on mine, the firm pressure of his muscles pushing me down into the bed. "You like that, Jack?" 

"Hell yes," I panted, twisting back against the mattress beneath him, lost in the feeling of his hands on my cock mixed with his mouth on my neck and his chest and arms flexing against me as his hands continued working. It was like a vicious cycle of sensation, each feeding into the next, and we were both starting to sweat a little, our bodies rubbing and sliding over each other. 

"Just checking," he answered, laughing softly against my neck as he finally released one of his hands, reaching over toward the nightstand, fishing around in that drawer I knew so well. I don't think we'd even put anything in any of the other drawers, which was probably a sad waste of space. 

My hands were running up and down Josh's back, scratching lightly, as he tore open the condom wrapper, and then, to my surprise, he began rolling it down over me. 

"Josh?" I asked, as he began to lube up my latex covered shaft. 

"I want you inside me," he growled, crawling up my body to straddle me. 

I felt his firm, strong thighs slide down on either side of mine, and then Josh grabbed my cock again, pressing it against him. I tried not to move, letting him be in control, and after a moment of gentle pressure, I felt my head slide inside, past the tight ring of muscle. Above me, Josh bit his lower lip, his body trembling a little as he strained to slowly lower himself onto me, his face a mix of pleasure and discomfort. I ran my hands up and down his sides, stroking lightly over his skin, as he stared down at me. Wincing slightly, he lowered himself all the way down, and I felt myself resting warmly inside him. He smiled down at me, resting on top of me, catching his breath as he relaxed around me. 

Slowly, exquisitely slowly, he began to flex, and I saw his thighs bunch as he lifted himself up a little, and then slowly slid back down. His whole torso, stretched above me, seemed to undulate as he slowly rose and fell, wincing a little sometimes, but his face began to smooth out as a flush bloomed softly over his features. As he continued his slow gyration above me, I realized that he was moving in time to the music on the stereo, and I smiled as I lay below him, my hands tucked behind my head, his hands resting on my chest. Josh looked down at me, saw my grin, and smiled as well. His body was covered in a light sheen of sweat, and it began to bead and collect on his chest. 

Leaning up, I brought my mouth to Josh's pecs as I pulled myself to a sitting position. He shifted a little, but continued his slow dance as he straddled me, my cock sliding in and out of him as the exquisite friction of his tight ass drove me wild beneath him. I began to lick and suck at his chest, swiping up his salty sweat with my tongue, and he moaned and sighed above me, throwing his head back and tangling his hands in my hair, pulling me against him. I bit and sucked at his nipples, and then at his chest again, scraping my teeth over his warm skin, feeling the muscles of his chest flex and press against my face. I felt his heart beating through the skin, and could feel the vibration of his groans and whimpers of pleasure through my lips as it radiated out from his chest. Josh grabbed my hair painfully, yanking my head back roughly so that he could bring his mouth down to mine, tilting his head down as he rode above me and jamming his tongue into my throat. 

Our headboard was now slapping the wall as well, since we'd forgotten to return the blanket that we had draped over it a few weeks ago. I didn't care if Justin and Britney heard us, but I hoped it wasn't bothering Chris. Then again, there had been a post it on the headboard that said, "Sex on Bed OK." If Chris was going to protest, he'd had his chance and blown it. 

Speaking of blowing it, I realized that I was getting kind of close, and that I hadn't done anything to help Josh out yet, while he'd so far taken excellent care of me. I felt his cock throbbing and dancing between us as the two of us remained pressed together, and then I let go of him, slowly, and let myself drop back down onto the mattress. Josh looked down at me through glassy, half-closed eyes, his face a smooth mask of pleasure, squinting on every thrust in a kind of surprised happiness as my cock hit his prostate, that place inside him that was guaranteed to send waves of warmth cascading through his nerve endings. His cock smacked against my belly as he continued his dance above me, faster now, his own breathing picking up as trickles of sweat began to run down the valley between his pecks. His nipples were hard and pointed, and his face was going rosy above me, flushed and straining. I wrapped my hands around his cock and began to slowly stroke him in tempo with his riding, and my own hips began to buck lightly as I thrust back beneath him. 

His cock throbbed in my hands, the spongy head wet with precum leaking from his slit, and I swirled it over the top, feeling it surge and jump beneath my fingers with every heartbeat. He began to sigh and whimper louder now, his breathing becoming sharp and high pitched. Inside him, I felt myself getting close to, and I began to stroke his cock faster, more roughly, as I felt myself pushing toward the edge. 

"Jack, Jack," he panted, staring down at me, letting out little mewing whimpering noises like a kitten. 

"Oh, God, Josh, you're so tight," I panted. "I'm so close, baby, so close." 

With a sudden, sharp cry, he yelped above me and began to shoot glistening, ropy arcs of cum across my chest and stomach, his cock jerking in my hands as he tossed his head back, his eyes closed. As his orgasm washed over him, his ass clamped tight around my cock, all but crushing me, and I blasted up into him, throwing my own head back into the pillows. Panting my name, he collapsed on top of me in a tangle of wet, sweaty limbs and straining muscles, and I let him rest against me for a minute before carefully sliding out of him. I reached for the tissues, and he pulled them out of my hands. 

"No, let me," he whispered as I lay, spent, below him. 

I felt his hands crawling and sliding over me, and then heard the tissues dropping to the floor in a soft fall of crumpled paper. Josh slid off of me, finally, snuggling up against my back, and began to kiss my shoulders and the back of my neck again. 

"I love you, Josh," I whispered, pressing back against him as he pulled the sheet back up over us. 

"I love you, too," he answered, his breathing falling into sync with mine. 

We drifted off to sleep, cradled against each other. 

---

Downstairs, in his apartment, Lance was stripping out of his clothes, getting ready for bed. He had taken to sleeping in the other bedroom, since he came back from the clinic, and had moved most of his things from one room to the other. He couldn't sleep in there, no matter how tired he was, because every time he closed his eyes all he could see were the other things that had happened in that room. 

Emptying his pockets, he paused to look again at the pair of pictures on the little strip that Howie had given him. Howie had taken the top half, which showed Lance looking more surprised when Howie had first poked him, and that left Lance with the last two pictures. He and Howie filled the frame, their faces screaming masks of laughter, Lance twisted oddly as he tried to push Howie away. Staring at the pictures, Lance realized that he looked happy, really happy in them. His face didn't look pale, or strained. There weren't any dark circles under his eyes, which were squinting with laughter, and his head was thrown back in complete abandon. 

Staring at the picture, Lance thought again about the evening he had just enjoyed, yes, enjoyed, with Howie, replaying the entire thing in his mind. Every time he thought of Howie's face, he experienced again those little shivers, those feelings of warmth. He felt like Howie was the first person in weeks who just treated him like a person. More than that, Howie had treated him like a friend. Howie had seemed to genuinely enjoy spending time with Lance, and had made Lance feel like he might actually have something to offer to another person, like he might actually be worth knowing, and Lance hadn't felt that way in a long time. For just tonight, for the briefest few hours, Lance had felt like the hole, the gnawing and painful hole at his center, had been filled. 

Staring down at the picture, he thought of how flat Howie looked in it, how less vibrant than the real Howie. The picture didn't catch the sparkle in Howie's brown eyes, or the glint of his smile. The picture didn't hold the smell of his cologne, or the warm feel of his hands. Lance remembered how Howie had invited him to his room, and wondered why Howie had done so. He wondered what Howie had wanted, and then realized that he knew. Lance knew exactly what Howie had wanted. What could anyone want from Lance, but that one thing? He would have gone into Howie's room, and then Howie would have told him that he had seen him looking. Howie would have told him that he knew what Lance was, and what Lance wanted. Howie would have pushed him down to his knees, and then he would have unbuckled his belt, because that's all that Lance was good for, and it was all he deserved. The warm glow would have gone out of Howie's eyes, replaced by cold contempt as Howie used him, and then threw him away. 

Lance realized he couldn't go to the movies with Howie tomorrow. He couldn't go anywhere with Howie. He would rather have this one memory, this one perfect evening, this one recollection to cradle to his chest. He grabbed the phone, suddenly realizing that he was crying, that tears were streaming down his cheeks, and picked it up to dial Howie's number. Another voice in his head stopped him. He wasn't sure whose voice it was, or where it had come from, but it insisted that Howie wouldn't treat him that way. Not Howie. Not the person who had ridden the ferris wheel just to make him happy, or held his hand on the roller coaster. Howie wouldn't do that to him, he couldn't. 

His hand shaking, Lance dropped the phone on the nightstand, next to the little strip of pictures. His eyes ticked back and forth between the two, between the telephone and the photographs, between calling and not calling. Reaching out with his shaking hand, watching it flutter, he realized that his whole body was shaking, and he flicked off the light. 

He crawled into bed, curling up into a little ball, clutching his pillow to him, but it was a long time before he fell asleep. 

---

CHAPTER 43

---

I smacked the alarm clock to silence it, and Josh grumbled, shifting against me, his head resting against my chest. I started to slide out of the bed, and he grabbed my shoulder. 

"Don't leave me," he whimpered softly. Looking down I realized he was still more or less asleep. 

"Josh, baby, I'm not leaving you," I whispered, kissing him on the forehead. 

"Promise?" he muttered, more awake now. His eyes blinked open. 

"Promise," I answered, sliding out of bed. I leaned down and kissed him again as he blinked at me. "I'm going for my run. I'll wake you when I get back, ok? Go back to sleep." 

"Yeah, ok," he answered, rolling over as I drew the sheet back up to his bare tanned shoulders, already drifting back into sleep. 

I got dressed quickly and headed downstairs to Chris's apartment, but the door was pulled open before I could knock. Vlada stepped out, kissing me hello on both cheeks before I could even say, "Good morning." 

"Ahhh, Jacques," she said, smiling. "Ees zo nice to zee you again. Chrees ees komink right now." 

"It's nice to see you, too, Vlada," I said, stepping back as I stared up into her face. She might have been the tallest girl I'd ever met. 

"I zaw you on zee TV," she said, smiling. "Ees fery brave, da, brave, was you do. Ees too bad you are only for zee boys, da?" 

"I don't really have a problem with it," I said, and we both laughed as Chris finally appeared. 

"Let me just see Vlada out to her cab," he said, grinning. I began to do my stretches as he walked her out to the parking area. I heard him talking to someone out in the lot, and when he walked back in he had a tall, bulky blond guy with him. I wondered for a second if Chris might be branching out in unexpected directions. "Jack, this is Hank. He's going to run with us from now on, OK?" 

"Um, sure," I said, shaking his hand as Chris started doing his stretches. "Nice to meet you, Hank. How do you know Chris?" 

Hank looked perplexed, glancing at Chris. 

"Hank's a bodyguard, Jack," Chris said quickly. "He works for us. He's going to run with us to make sure we don't have a repeat of that scene at the bakery yesterday, and to keep reporters away. I didn't think you'd mind." 

"No, of course not," I said, shrugging. "Why would I mind?" 

That feeling of losing control of my own life, of having other people make decisions for me, washed over me again, and I tried to push it away as the three of us trotted off into our run. I knew that Chris meant well, and I could even see the logic to us having someone with us, in case Basil Morgan decided to lay in wait for us somewhere again or something, but I still would have appreciated being asked. I shook my head, trying to decide if I was taking things too personally or not. We ran mostly in silence, Hank keeping up with us easily. I assume he ran several miles a day, as part of some sort of grueling bodyguard workout schedule, but was unsure of whether or not I was supposed to talk to him, so I didn't ask. As we rounded into our last mile, though, Chris noticed I wasn't speaking. 

"You ok?" he asked. "You're kind of quiet today." 

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm fine. I'm just, you know, this is kind of weird for me. No offense, Hank." 

"None taken, sir," Hank said from behind us. 

"Hank, are you going to be running with us every day?" I asked. 

"Yes, sir," he answered. 

"Then please stop calling me sir," I said. "I'll call you Hank, and you can call me Jack, ok?" 

"Certainly, Jack," Hank said smoothly. Chris snickered. 

"Does Josh know about this?" I asked him. 

"Yeah," Chris said, puzzled. "We talked about it yesterday while you were in the shower. I guess he forgot to tell you." 

"Yeah," I said, shrugging. "He had a lot on his mind yesterday." 

"How'd the meeting go?" Chris asked. "You guys were gone forever." 

"I'll leave that one for Josh, since it's business stuff, and I don't know what he's allowed to tell you," I said, wishing for a second I'd actually stopped to read any of those papers I had signed. "I'll just say that Stan is a toad, a fucking toad." 

Behind us I heard Hank chuckle, and then quickly smother it. I grinned. 

"You're all right, Hank," I laughed. "I think we'll keep you." 

Chris shook his head, and we finished up. When we got back to the apartments, I shook Hank's hand, and was surprised when he handed me a card with his name and number on it. 

"So you know how to reach me, " he said, walking toward a car. 

"For?" I asked, wondering what else I had missed. Hank looked to Chris again. 

"Hank is your driver, too," Chris said, unlocking the gate. "If you need to go anywhere while we're at the studio, call him, and he'll come get you." 

"Oh, ok," I said, smiling icily. I waved goodbye to Hank, and walked briskly inside, heading for the stairs. 

"Jack?" Chris asked from behind me. 

"I'll take it up with Josh, Chris," I said, not turning around. 

"He's only trying to look out for you," Chris called. 

"I know," I said, leaning over the railing. "And I'm not mad at him. We just need to clear the air a little." 

I went into the apartment, stripping down as I crossed the living room. I flicked the coffee machine on, having finally mastered the Byzantine controls, and then ducked into the bathroom to turn the shower on. Finally heading into the bedroom, I pulled the sheet down a little, and tapped Josh on the shoulder. 

"No," he protested, burying his head in the pillows. 

"Yes," I said, laughing. I grabbed the sheet and yanked it down, exposing the twin curves of his bare ass. "It's time to get up." 

"Do I have to?" he asked, still muffled by the pillows. 

"Yeah, you do," I answered. "You need to bathe and we need to talk. Shower's running, Josh. Let's go." 

He caught something in my tone, because he suddenly lifted his head. 

"Jack? You ok?" he asked, sliding out of bed. 

"More or less," I said, taking his hand. "We can talk in the shower." 

As soon as I pulled the shower curtain closed Josh grabbed my shoulders and gently turned me, so that I was facing him. 

"What's wrong?" he asked, that frown line between his eyebrows again. "Please tell me." 

"Talk to me about Hank, Josh, " I said. Comprehension washed over his face. 

"I forgot to tell you," he said, and I nodded. 

"Yeah, you did," I said. "I don't want us to argue about it, Josh. If you guys think I need a guard and a driver, fine, but you should have told me. I don't like it when people make decisions for me, Josh." 

"I know, and I'm sorry," he said again, looking down. "I meant to talk to you about it yesterday, but then all that shit happened at the studio with Stan and Marshall, and I just kind of forgot." 

"Josh, it's ok if you forgot, " I said, tilting his head back up so that I could see into his eyes, and show him that I really wasn't furiously mad. "I was just really surprised, especially after everything that happened yesterday. I just, I feel like I need to know what's going on. It might be par for the course for all of you guys to have someone follow you around wherever you go, but it's not for me." 

"I'm sorry," he repeated. 

"Apology accepted," I said, kissing him. "Please don't spend all day beating yourself up over it, ok?" 

"OK," he agreed, hugging me. 

We washed up quickly, and then had a light breakfast before I walked him down to the parking lot so he could meet the guys. Justin's car was already gone, because he had to take Brit to the airport, but the other four decided to ride together. 

"We're breaking at noon," Josh said, hugging me before he got in the car. "Do you want to come meet us for lunch hour? We'll go someplace casual, so you can wear whatever." 

"I'd love to," I answered, happy that we were over our minor spat. 

I was so happy, in fact, that after they left I began to put together a plan for lunch. Calling around, I arranged to pick up food, and decided that I would surprise them at the studio with a big lunch for all of the guys. We'd eaten together enough times that I had a pretty good idea of what they would want, and if I brought lunch I would get to pay, for once, something they never let me do. With all the arrangements made for the food, I put in a call to Hank, feeling a little awkward about it. I explained my plan to him, and he figured out what time we would have to leave to get the food in order to be at the studio at noon to set it up in the bubble. When it was time to go, I walked down to the parking lot, and Hank jumped out of the car, opening the back door. I stared at him. 

"Hank, I'm not Miss Daisy," I said, shrugging. "Do I have to ride in the back?" 

"Not if you don't want to," he answered, shrugging as well. 

"Thanks," I said, climbing into the front. 

On our way to the restaurant I asked Hank a little about where he was from (Nebraska), why he was a bodyguard and driver (it was a side job; like everyone else out here, he was an actor), and what else he'd done. He was a little hesitant to answer, but eventually opened up. We collected the food, loading it into the back seat. I didn't know if Hank was supposed to help or not, but he didn't seem to mind. We drove over to the studio, and I grabbed the bags. 

"What time do you want me to come back?" Hank asked as I climbed out. 

"Is one ok?" I asked. 

"Jack, I work for you," Hank said, shaking his head and laughing. I really needed to get used to this, before I made an even bigger fool of myself. "If you want me here at one, I'll be here at one." 

I signed in at the desk, checking my watch, and just as I finished the guys must have finished, too, because I ran into all five of them in the hallway on my way to the bubble. Josh's eyes lit up when he saw me, and his face broke into a wide grin. 

"Jack!" he said, glancing down at my hands, which were holding both bags. "What's all that?" 

"I brought lunch," I answered. "I didn't bring any drinks, but I figured you probably have some in the kitchen. I brought enough for everybody, and I know you guys only have an hour, so let's eat!" 

"I love you," Josh said, kissing me on the cheek as he took one of the bags from me. 

We poured into the bubble, Lance and Chris dragging the end tables together to set the containers out while Joey pulled the couches closer. I looked up from the bag I was unloading and saw Justin walking away down the hallway, shoulders slumped, head down. 

"Justin," I called, noticing that all sound around me stopped. "I brought enough for you, too." 

None of the others said anything, but I heard Josh inhale sharply next to me. I looked over, and he glanced at me, his jaw set. I stared right back at him, daring him to say something. Lance looked down, suddenly very interested in setting out the plates and napkins, and Joey and Chris watched Josh and I, waiting. The moment seemed to stretch, to play out before us like kite string in a windstorm, but in actuality it was probably barely a second or two long. Surprisingly, Lance broke it. 

"Jack, you forgot to get silverware," he said, acting as if everything was fine. 

"There's some in the kitchen, " Joey said carefully, his eyes still fixed on us. 

Josh blinked and looked away, and I looked up at Justin. He had paused in the doorway, waiting for someone to say something as well, and the look on his face wrenched at me. He was almost cringing, like a dog waiting to be kicked by a bully, and seemed almost resigned to it. 

"I'll get it," Lance said, walking quickly to the door. 

Justin stepped back, giving him a wide berth, and then stepped into the room, even as Joey jumped up to follow Lance, saying something about getting drinks. Joey had pulled only three couches around the tables. Josh, who was very carefully pulling the lids off of the containers and avoiding looking at me or at Justin, was sharing one with me. Chris had flung his legs onto the seat of the one he was on, and Justin looked at the empty one, realizing that it was for Joey and Lance. He walked back and pulled another couch closer, but still off to the side, not part of the grouping. I didn't say anything, deciding that I had pushed Josh enough for one afternoon, and wondering already how bad our fight would be. Besides, I didn't owe Justin anything. I'd done him enough of a favor by getting him into the room. 

Joey and Lance returned, and we settled in for a quiet lunch. I had picked up the food at a little southern cooking place, so there was a lot of barbecue and greens and cornbread, and everything was very good. Eventually a little of the tension dissipated, and Joey and Chris began to talk about something they had seen on television last night. 

"That sounds like it was really cool," Lance said. 

"I tried to call you," Joey said. "But you weren't home. Where were you, anyway?" 

"Out," Lance said evasively. "Out doing stuff." 

"What kind of stuff?" Chris asked. 

"Just, you know, stuff," Lance answered, blushing. 

"I don't think he wants to talk about it," I said quickly. 

"Was it at least fun?" Josh asked, smiling at him encouragingly. "Did you have a good time?" 

"Yeah," Lance said after a pause. "Yeah, I did." 

"Wish I had some stuff," Chris said, pretending to look hurt. 

"I saw your stuff getting walked out to the cab this morning," I said quickly. The others all snickered, even Justin. 

"Yeah, well I heard your stuff last night," Chris countered, grinning. Josh turned bright red. 

"Thanks for fixing our table, by the way," I said sweetly. "If we can ever do anything to, you know, repay the favor, like bringing you a handcuff key or something, just let us know." 

"Ouch!" Lance snickered, as Joey began to howl with laughter. 

"That's my boyfriend," Josh grinned, hugging me quickly across the shoulders. Maybe he wasn't mad after all. 

"Well, this looks very cozy, " Stan said from the doorway, where he was leaning on the frame. "What's the special occasion?" 

"Jack brought us lunch," Justin said, as I felt the tension crawling into the room again. Josh must have told them this morning what had happened. 

"And he bought it with his own money," Joey added. 

"Not money he stole from JC, " Chris finished. 

Stan glared at me, and I glared at Stan. Josh's hand wrapped around one of mine. 

"Did you need something?" Josh asked, icily polite. 

"Just wanted to remind you that you're back in there at one," Stan said, pointing across the bubble toward one of the recording rooms. "Don't get distracted." 

As he walked away I gave serious thought to throwing my soda can at the back of his head. I was more than Josh's distraction, damn it. Chris and Joey turned the conversation back to lighter topics again, but a pall had been cast over the rest of lunch. I wasn't sure who anyone was mad at, actually. Justin? Me? Stan? Some combination of the three? Whatever the case, when we finished everyone jumped up to clean everything up, return silverware to the kitchen, and move the furniture back. The guys were still shunning Justin, more or less, but no one actually stopped him from helping. Josh pulled me aside as the others walked into the hallway. 

"Do you think you could make something for dinner?" he asked, holding my hands. "Just for us? I want to stay in tonight." 

"Sure, no problem," I said. "Hank can run me to the store. Josh, are you mad at me?" 

He thought about it for a minute, but then leaned in and kissed me, quickly, on the mouth. 

"A little, but I think I understand," he said. "We'll talk about it later, ok?" 

"OK," I answered, hugging him. "I love you." 

"I love you, too," he answered, squeezing me tightly. "Thanks for lunch." 

I spent the rest of my afternoon reading and flipping through the channels on the television. I caught Josh and I on the screen a couple of times, and thought again that we needed to look over that list of reporters and make a decision. Not giving out a story was probably just going to prolong the interest. Glancing at today's paper, I noticed that Basil Morgan's column made no mention of us at all. I guess there wasn't anything to gossip about if everyone knew. Checking the clock, I realized that Josh was done at the studio, and was on his way to the gym, so I decided to set the table and start dinner. I was just browning the chicken strips when he came in. 

"Hey," he smiled form the doorway, still a little sweaty from working out. 

"Hi there," I answered from the stove. "Go hop in the shower, and this'll be ready when you come out." 

While Josh was in the shower, I brought all the plates to the table. I'd decided that we could just have wraps, so I had chicken, a bunch of different vegetables, some cheese, the wraps, and a couple dressings. I figured we could assemble our own, and that I had done a pretty good job for someone with practically no cooking ability. Maybe reading all of those Martha Stewart magazines had some benefit after all. I lit the candles, poured Josh an ice water, and was pulling my own soda out of the refrigerator when he wrapped me up in a hug from behind. 

"Dinner looks great," he sighed. 

"Thanks," I said, leading him toward the table. "I feel really domestic suddenly. Should I ask how your day at the office was, Ward?" 

"If you want, June," he snickered. We settled in at the table and began to eat, quietly, smiling at each other when we happened to glance up. "This is really good." 

"Thanks," I said. "Do you want to talk about lunch now?" 

"I guess," Josh shrugged. "I'm not mad, and I wasn't really mad at lunch, either. You just really caught me off guard." 

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't do it to upset you." 

"I know, and the only reason I didn't say anything was because Lance was ok with it," Josh said, taking my hand. "But Jack, you know how I feel about Justin right now, and the other guys aren't too happy with him, either." 

"I know, but I really do think he's sorry, Josh," I said. "I'm not saying we should all just hug him right to our breasts and forget everything he's done, but you guys did agree to let him stay in the band. He's still part of your family." 

"Our family," Josh corrected, squeezing my hand. "It's your family too, now. And yeah, he says he's sorry, but actions speak louder than words." 

"He'll never get to show you any actions if you keep treating him like a pariah," I pointed out gently. 

"I know," Josh agreed, sighing. "It's just really hard, you know? Looking at him, and remembering the things he's done, it's just hard to want him around." 

"I know, Josh," I agreed. "I mean, after I invited him, I couldn't think of a damn thing to say, but at least he was there. I'm not telling you what to do, or how to act, but I think if the four of you are doing something as a group, you should at least ask him. You're recording together, and eventually you're going to be touring together again. I've been on that bus, Josh. You're going to be spending a lot of up close and personal time with him. Maybe you should start getting used to it now, so it's not such a shock later." 

"Maybe," Josh said, nodding. "I'll think about it, ok?" 

"That's all I ask," I said, nodding as well. 

After dinner Josh went to work in the other bedroom for a while, and I went back to my book. Eventually I got bored with reading, and went to change into a pair of trunks. I went to the other bedroom, and found Josh over the mixing board again, headphones in place. I waited until he seemed to pause, and tapped him on the shoulder. 

"I'm going down to the pool for a while, ok?" I asked. 

"Wait, I'll go with you," Josh said, pulling the earphones off. 

Josh ran into the other bedroom while I sat on the back of the couch, and when he walked out I let out a low whistle. Josh had on a tiny black swimsuit that left nothing to the imagination. I let my eyes roam up and down over his chest and stomach, and down the muscled, tapering expanse of his legs. The dark color just set off his tan, and his eyes sparkled as he grinned at me. The only other thing he had on, like me, was his necklace. 

"What?" he asked, walking toward the door. 

"Nothing," I said, shaking my head. "I was just wondering if maybe they were all out of smaller suits when you picked that up." 

"Hey, it could be a thong," he pointed out. 

"I'd have to leave you," I said, laughing, as we walked down to the pool. 

We set our telephones and towels down on one of the tables, and jumped in. We started out just swimming around, and then somehow decided to race each other from one end of the pool to the other. Predictably enough, this led to horseplay, as we tried to dunk each other, and suddenly I found myself pressed up against Josh on the side of the pool. Our bodies slid over each other as he pulled me against him, jabbing his tongue deep into my mouth. I glanced down and saw that he was popping out of the top of his suit. 

"Maybe we should lose that entirely," I suggested, diving below the water. 

I pulled his suit down, his cock springing out to bat me in the face, and then I surfaced for air, tossing his balled up suit into the far end of the pool. Josh smiled at me, and I grinned and ducked below the surface again, taking his cock into my mouth, trying not to get a lot of pool water in there with it. Josh was hot and velvety beneath my tongue, throbbing as I began to bob up and down on him. His hands dropped down to the back of my head, and I surfaced again. 

"Easy with the hands, Josh," I said, leaning forward to kiss him as he hungrily kissed back. "I don't want to drown down there." 

"Sorry," he whispered, eyes wide. "This is really hot, Jack." 

"Thought you might like it," I said, diving again. 

I swallowed him again, playing my tongue over him and praying that I wouldn't screw up and fill my lungs with chlorinated pool water. This looked so much easier in all the porno movies I'd seen, but there wasn't anything sexy about choking and almost drowning. I surfaced again, and we heard a loud voice calling from the archway, laughing. 

"This better not be what it looks like," Chris said, walking toward the pool. It was dark enough out that we hadn't seen him approach. "No sex in the pool." 

"What makes you think we're having sex in the pool?" I asked, pressing myself against Josh to shield him from Chris's view. 

"Well, aside from your boyfriend there blushing bright red," Chris said, pointing at the sheepishly flushed Josh, "I can also see his suit down there on the bottom of the deep end. The pool is for swimming. Take the rest upstairs, kids." 

"Busted," Josh sighed, smiling as Chris laughed. 

"Why don't you stay here, and I'll go get your suit?" I suggested as Josh turned, pressing himself against the side of the pool. We heard the chimes of a phone begin playing "Drive Myself Crazy" and I smiled. "Chris, that's mine. Can you get it?" 

"Sure," he answered, picking it up as I swam to the other end of the pool. "Jack's phone, Chris speaking. Hey Carla! No, Jack's here. He's in the pool. What's going on?" 

I swam over to Josh and handed him his suit. 

"Here, sexy, put this on," I snickered. "Chris?" 

"Jack, I think you need to get out of the pool and take this right now," Chris said. "She says someone vandalized your apartment, and the police are there, and that there are reporters, too." 

I swam for the ladder. 

---

CHAPTER 44

---

"Talk to me, Carla," I said, taking the phone from Chris. Behind me I heard Josh climbing out of the pool. 

"Jack! Thank God!" Carla said. Behind her, wherever she was, I could hear sirens. 

"Carla, where are you?" I asked. "Are you ok?" 

"Jack, I'm fine," she answered, and I could hear her walking toward a quiet spot. "I'm at your apartment, actually, I'm outside of it on your lawn, and your landlord is here. Someone vandalized the outside of your building, and the landlord called the cops, and some fool called the local paper, too, because, you know, you're famous now. This place is a nuthouse, Jack." 

"Vandalized how?" I asked, as I felt Josh settle a towel onto my shoulders. He began to dry me off, his eyes wide with concern, and I absently caressed the side of his face. 

"There are, um, words spray-painted on the front of your building," Carla answered carefully. "And someone threw a brick through your living room window. It's not good here, kiddo." 

Behind us I heard Lance's door open, and he glanced quizzically at the three of us as he crossed over to the parking lot archway. 

"Jack, there's more," Carla said. "I think you should sit down for the rest of this." 

"Sit down?" I repeated. "Carla, what else is going on?" 

"Some parents have started a petition, and they're going to take it to the school board," Carla answered. "They don't want you around the kids." 

"What?" I asked, sitting down hard. Josh knelt in front of me, and I squeezed his hand almost convulsively as Chris looked on anxiously. "They what?" 

"They said you're an unhealthy moral influence, and that you'll bring unwanted attention to the school," Carla said. "It's all bullshit, Jack. They said you'll be disruptive to the kids' education, and they want you removed." 

"When did they do this?" I asked. It had only been a couple days. "Why didn't you call me?" 

"I just found out!" Carla said. "Maggie White said they were in the grocery store, by the doors, asking people to sign it." 

"Shit!" I said, jumping up to pace again. "Shit shit shit!" 

Josh followed anxiously behind me, and Chris drifted over to stand by Lance. 

"What's going on?" Lance asked. 

"Bad shit," Chris answered. 

"Carla, listen, I'll catch the next flight out," I said, walking toward the stairs. Josh followed urgently at my heels. "Can you pick me up?" 

"Sure," she answered. "You can stay at my place." 

"Don't tell anyone that," I said, thinking again of reporters. "I'll call you and let you know when to pick me up, ok?" 

"No problem," she answered. "I'll stick around here and talk to your landlord, too." 

I hung up and reached for the doorknob to our apartment, but Josh stopped me, resting a hand on my arm. Down in the courtyard Chris and Lance were both staring up at us, and I realized that tears of frustration were standing in my eyes. 

"Jack?" Josh asked softly. I realized I was shaking, but couldn't tell if it was chill from the pool, or from the rest of this. 

"I have to go home, Josh," I answered quietly, trying not to break. "Carla said that someone spraypainted things on the side of my apartment, and broke my window, and that there's a group of parents that wants the Board of Education to remove me from my position." 

"What?" Josh asked, surprised. 

"They said I'm a bad influence on the kids," I said, pulling open the apartment door. "I have to pack." 

"Jack, that's bullshit," Josh said, following me through the living room. "People don't protest like that anymore." 

"I live in Ohio, Josh," I offered by way of explanation. "I have to go back and deal with this stuff." 

"I'm coming with you," Josh said, following me into the guest room as I collected my suitcase. 

"No, you're not," I said, pausing. I watched his face collapse and almost gave in. 

"What?" Josh asked, stepping back. 

"Josh, you can't come with me," I said, walking into the other bedroom. "You'll get in trouble with Stan." 

"Fuck Stan!" Josh said, dragging one of his suitcases out of the closet. 

Chris appeared in the hallway. 

"Guys?" he asked. Both of us spun toward him. 

"Chris, could you give us a minute, please?" I asked, sounding a little harsher than I wanted to as Josh stood in his bathing suit, clutching his suitcase and trying to get past me into our bedroom. 

"Sure," Chris said, backing away. "I'll start calling the airlines for you." 

"Thank you," I said, pulling Josh into the bedroom. I slammed the door closed behind him. "Josh, you can't come with me." 

"Yes I can," he answered petulantly. 

"No, Josh, you can't," I said, hugging him. He dropped his suitcase. "Josh, you're already in trouble over me. You guys just got back into the studio today, and I'm not going to pull you out again." 

"That doesn't matter to me!" Josh said, shaking his head. I saw such pain in his eyes. 

"It matters to me," I said. "Josh, I want you with me. I want you there holding my hand every time I face something bad, but you can't always be there, even if you want to be. I told you before, I don't want your career to suffer because you're with me, and I don't want the other guys to have to deal with it, either." 

"But I don't want you to go through this by yourself," Josh said. 

"Josh, I'll have Carla, and I'll know that you're right there with me in here," I said, tapping my chest. "I can handle this, Josh, but not if I think you're hurting, too. I need you to stay here, and work on the album, and not get into any more trouble with your management. And as soon as I take care of this I'll jump on the first plane and come right back to you, and I need to know that you'll be here waiting for me." 

"Are you sure this is what you want?" he asked. 

"It might not be exactly what I want, or the way I wish things could be, but I think it's for the best, Josh," I said, sighing. Josh sighed, too, and I knew that I had him. 

Chris tapped at the door. 

"How many tickets do we need?" he asked through it. 

"Just one," Josh answered. 

We both got dressed, throwing some clothes on, and then Josh began to help me load my suitcase. I pulled the bedroom door open, so that Chris could come talk to us about the plane ticket, and I saw that Lance was with him. 

"I asked Howie to wait for me downstairs," Lance said, shrugging. Chris gave him an odd look, but didn't say anything. "Is everything ok?" 

"Yeah, what's going on?" Chris asked. 

I hastily explained everything as Josh and I finished packing my suitcase. Chris had booked the earliest available flight, throwing me in first class again, but to make it we had to leave right then. I closed my suitcase. 

"Thank you guys, for everything," I said, holding Josh's hand. "Can someone tell Joey I said bye, and that I'll be back soon?" 

"Sure," Chris said, as he and Lance followed Josh and I out of the apartment. 

The four of us walked down the stairs, and Howie jumped up from one of the lounge chairs to join Lance. 

"Everything ok?" Howie asked quietly. I hadn't ever really looked at him before, since I hadn't seen him up close, but he looked plenty cute to me. Good job, Lance. 

"Yeah," Lance said quickly. "Um, Jack, this is Howie. He knows everyone else." 

"Hi," Howie said, extending a hand and smiling. "It's nice to meet you." 

"You, too," I said, smiling back. He had a good, firm grip. "I'm sorry, but I have to go catch a plane." 

"That's ok," Howie said, shrugging. "I just wanted to say hi." 

"It was nice meeting you," I said, following Josh to the car. I turned and gave Lance a quick hug. "Call if you need me, ok? And Chris, take care of Josh." 

"I'm right here," Josh said. "I can hear you." 

"I know," I said, as Chris grinned. 

"Good luck, Jack," Lance said. 

"Be strong," Chris added. 

Josh and I drove to the airport in silence, my hand under his on the gearshift. He walked me in, and waited with me in the VIP lounge until it was time for me to board. He wrapped me up in a hug, and I thought again about how much time he and I spent saying goodbye to each other. We needed to do something about that. 

"I love you," he said, kissing me. I realized that there was a benefit to being out to the whole world after all. You could kiss your famous boyfriend in the middle of the airport, and not worry about who might be looking. "Hurry back to me." 

"I will," I said, kissing him back. "I love you, too. And Josh, please keep an eye on Lance, ok?" 

"OK," he said, smiling, as I walked toward the counter. 

"And remember what I said about Justin?" I added. 

"I will," he said. 

Halfway down the ramp I turned, and saw him still standing at the top, watching me. I waved, and blew him a kiss, and he waved back, mouthing, "I love you." 

---

"Lance, are you sure you still want to go to the movies?" Howie asked again. He had asked once before because he couldn't read Lance at all right now. Since he'd hugged his friend goodbye in the courtyard, he had shut himself off completely, not smiling, and barely speaking. 

"Of course I do," Lance answered woodenly. He wondered why Howie kept asking, and felt a little twinge of fear. "Why? You don't want to go?" 

"Lance, I want to spend some time with you," Howie said, stopping to put a hand on Lance's shoulder. "I know we said we were going to the movies, but you don't seem like you're really into it. Lance, are you ok?" 

Lance looked around. They were standing in the middle of the mall, on their way to the theater. He spotted a little coffee shop, with tables, and led Howie over there. 

"Can we talk for a minute before we go get our tickets?" Lance asked hopefully. 

"Of course we can," Howie answered, smiling. Why was Lance so tense? He'd tensed up the second Howie put a hand on his shoulder, so Howie had immediately removed it. "Come on, I'll buy you a coffee." 

They sat down with their coffees, and Howie watched Lance carefully, trying to figure out how he could help. Lance looked very strained, and kept staring into his coffee as if the answers might be floating in the cup. 

"Lance, what's eating at you?" Howie asked. "I mean, seriously, whatever it is, just tell me. Sometimes it feels better to let things out." 

Lance looked at Howie, really looked at him. Howie was leaning forward in his chair a little, his hands folded around his coffee. His face, his tanned, handsome face, was etched with concern, and his eyes were warm and friendly. Lance stared into them, losing himself, wondering what Howie really wanted, and then decided that maybe, just maybe, what Howie really wanted was to help him. 

"I'm worried about Jack," Lance said quietly. 

"Why?" Howie asked. 

"Howie, Jack is really important to me," Lance began, trying to explain. "We've only known him for a few weeks, but he's really been there for me. He's helped me with some, well, some stuff, and I haven't been able to do anything for him." 

"Has he asked you to do anything?" Howie asked carefully. 

"No, he's not like that," Lance said. "Jack is nice, but he's stubborn. He always thinks that he can, like, take care of everything on his own, so he never asks anyone to help him with anything, no matter how badly he needs it. He's just so sure that he can, like, do it all himself, and get it all taken care of, and I'm really worried, because I don't know if he can, and I don't know how to help him." 

Howie thought this over for a second. It was clear that there was some sort of dynamic to Jack and Lance's relationship that he didn't understand, some undercurrent that he wasn't catching, but he wasn't sure of what it was. 

"Look, Lance, I don't want you to betray any confidences or anything," Howie began, patting Lance's hand to reassure him. "But maybe if you explain the problem, we can figure out something together." 

"I guess it wouldn't hurt," Lance said, mulling it over. He glanced up at Howie, locking eyes again. "I mean, you won't tell anyone, right?" 

"Not if you don't want me to, " Howie answered, shaking his head. 

"I guess in a, you know, a general sense, I'm kind of worried about how Jack is taking all of this," Lance said, shrugging. "I mean, Josh just kind of pulled him into all of this, and Jack is kind of a quiet person. I think it's causing them a lot of strain, and I'm worried about them." 

Howie nodded. One of the problems any of them in either group had with dating people outside the business was trying to get them to understand how overwhelming and absorbing this could be. Some people, like Brian and Kevin's wives, bore up pretty well under the strain, and managed to find a balance, but a lot of them just had a string of broken relationships to show for it, like Howie did. Howie thought sadly about his last relationship, and how quickly it had ended. The stress was just too much for some people. 

"It's not just that, either, " Lance continued. He could see that his story was having some sort of effect on Howie, because Howie suddenly looked very sad for a minute. He shook his head, as if to clear it, and looked back up at Lance. "The management has been giving Josh a lot of pressure since the other night. Josh didn't tell them that he was going to, you know, take Jack to that show, and put his tongue in his mouth, and the publicists are flipping out trying to cope with it. The lawyers made Jack sign this confidentiality thing, but they didn't tell Josh first, and Josh flipped out. And now Jack just had to fly home because somebody vandalized his house, and there's a bunch of parents who want him to lose his job." 

Lance sighed. 

"I'm just really worried about them," he finished. 

"I can see that," Howie said, sighing. 

"So what should I do?" Lance asked, rolling his jade green eyes at Howie. 

Howie stared at Lance, deep into his eyes, and felt as if he might be slipping. Slipping nothing, he was falling completely. Seeing Lance like this, completely torn up over concern for other people, and trusting him enough to lay it all out for him, he realized for a second that he was starting to fall for Lance. Given time, he could end up falling pretty hard. Did he want that? Thinking about it, he realized that yes, actually, he wouldn't mind that at all. Lance was the kind of guy that he had been waiting for, caring, kind, open, warm-hearted, and it didn't hurt at all that he was so damn cute, either, with that little kid earnestness and those eyes, so green, that you could just get lost in. 

Lance stared at Howie, looking at the way his dark bangs feathered down over his forehead, the way his eyebrows shifted toward each other when he thought hard about something. His mouth, so full, was narrowed to a thin line, and his strong jaw shifted a little as he unconsciously shifted his teeth against each other. His nose was a firm, straight line, highlighting the ridges of his cheeks. And his eyes, his eyes, Lance could have stared into them all day. They weren't just brown, they were a thousand shades of brown, layers and flecks, and the way they sparkled lit something inside of Lance as well. Lance felt something stirring in him again as he looked at Howie, something he wasn't sure he wanted to feel. But if it felt good, if it made him feel this way inside, it couldn't really be wrong, could it? 

"Lance, maybe what you're doing is all you can do," Howie said finally, returning to the matter at hand. "Maybe Jack and Josh aren't going to ask for help, and all you can do is wait to offer it when they need it." 

"But I feel like I'm not doing anything," Lance said. 

"Not doing anything?" Howie asked, incredulous. "Lance, you guys put your whole group, and your careers, on the line for your friends. Your friend came to you and said, 'This is who I am, this is who I love,' and you guys didn't shut him out. They wanted to tell the world, and you guys said, 'OK, let's do it.' Do you know what that must mean to them?" 

"Kind of," Lance said, wondering why Howie was suddenly so passionate about this. "But it wasn't like that. It wasn't that easy." 

"Lance, it doesn't matter if it was easy or not," Howie argued. "You guys had a problem, and instead of running away from it, or pretending it didn't exist, or deciding to hide it from everyone, you guys made it all of yours. Everyone deserves to have friends like that, Lance, everyone. I think you've done more for Jack and Josh than you think you have." 

"I guess," Lance said, nodding. He thought about it for a minute. Maybe Howie was right. He looked up at Howie and smiled, missing the little flash of pain in Howie's eyes. "Thanks, Howie." 

"No problem," Howie said, forcing himself to stop thinking about how things had gone with his own group when they had faced this same issue. 

"Do you, um, do you want to go to that movie now?" Lance asked, finishing his coffee. 

"Sure," Howie agreed, draining his as well. 

As they walked the length of the mall, Lance thought about how much better he felt. Maybe he was doing all he could. Maybe, like Howie said, he'd wait to see where he could help, and he'd just jump in. Until then, he would just be there for his friends, like they'd been there for him. 

While Lance was gliding along, happily less confused, Howie was kicking himself for not figuring out a way to ask the question he really wanted answered. Last night, he had definitely thought he felt something between him and Lance, some sort of little spark. Tonight, he thought he felt it again, but did it mean what he thought it did? He was interested in Lance, really interested, but was Lance interested in him the same way? Right up until he'd invited Lance to his door, he would have said yes, but then Lance had all but run away. In the bluntest possible terms, Howie couldn't tell if Lance was into guys, and he couldn't think of a way to ask. 

They bought their tickets for the movie, and Howie suggested sharing a popcorn, which Lance agreed to. During the movie, their hands collided in the popcorn bag several times, but Lance didn't seem to mind. Howie looked over at him, and noticed again that Lance looked very relaxed, and very happy. He was glad to have taken some of the strain off of him, even if he wasn't sure how he'd done it, but he still didn't know. Was Lance happy because he was out with a buddy, or was Lance happy because he was out on a date? When the movie ended, they were both yawning, and Lance offered to drive Howie back to the hotel. 

On the way back, they talked about the movie a little, debating the pros and cons, the casting, and even the soundtrack. The closer they got to the hotel, the more nervous Lance became. He remembered last night, remembered the confusing twist of emotions he'd felt when Howie had asked him to come back to his room. He wondered if Howie would ask again, and, even more, he wondered what he would answer. He liked Howie a lot, but what if he was wrong about him? Howie seemed so nice, and open, and friendly now, but so had Justin, and Lance had been so very wrong about him. He felt shaky inside again, like he had later last night, when he had almost called Howie to cancel, torn between who he thought Howie was, and who Howie might be. 

And what about himself? Was this really who he was? Could this be? 

"Do you want to come up for a minute?" Howie asked. 

Lance swallowed, his throat suddenly very dry. 

"Sure," Lance answered quietly. "Just for a minute." 

Lance's heart was beating so hard on the way upstairs that he couldn't believe Howie couldn't hear it. Howie felt butterflies fluttering madly in his stomach as he pushed his room card into the slot, and then he pushed open the door and they stepped inside. Lance bolted immediately for the couch in the suite room, and Howie stood awkwardly by the television. 

"So, um, this is my room," Howie said, trying to find the words, any words at all. 

"It sure is," Lance agreed, mentally kicking himself. What was he saying? Was he babbling? He looked up at Howie, and saw Howie cross his arms. 

"Lance, I, um, I asked you up here for a reason," Howie began, his eyes darting across the floor. "I asked you up here because, I, um, well, I've really enjoyed myself these past two nights." 

"I have, too," Lance said, waiting fearfully for whatever Howie would say next. 

"Good, good, I hope you have, " Howie said. "Can I come sit by you?" 

"Sure," Lance said, his heart fluttering now, his voice almost a squeak. He thought he might pass out. 

Howie sat next to Lance, taking up the other cushion, but very deliberately staying on his half. He turned partially toward Lance, so keyed up himself that he didn't notice how nervous and scared Lance suddenly looked. 

"Lance, I, um, what I'm trying to say is, well, I like you," Howie said quietly. Lance stared at him impassively. 

"I like you, too," Lance said, his voice barely squeaking out. He wondered if the walls might be closing in, because the room suddenly felt very small. He tried to look away from Howie's face, and couldn't. 

"No, Lance, I mean I like you," Howie said, stressing the like. Having gotten that out, his next words seemed to gush out of his mouth unstoppably. "And I think I'd like to kiss you now, ok?" 

Lance swallowed again, his eyes widening. Howie wasn't sneering at him, he wasn't yelling at him, he wasn't making him feel dirty and wrong. Howie was leaning in, leaning in, and Lance closed his eyes just as he felt Howie's lips brush against his. He pressed toward Howie a little, and felt Howie's mouth pressing against him with renewed vigor. Lance felt the room spinning around him, felt sparks shooting down his spine, felt everything he knew he was supposed to feel at this moment. 

And then he heard Justin's voice in his head. Behind his eyes, he suddenly saw Justin's face, twisted into the cruel sneer he had seen above him so many times. 

"It's wrong, Lance. You know it's wrong, and you like it. You like it." 

"No!" Lance yelped, pushing Howie away. He saw Howie's eyes widen with shock. "No! No!" 

Lance jumped off the couch and ran for the door. 

"Lance?" Howie blurted. What was happening? "Lance, wait!" 

"No! No!" Lance cried again, flinging the door open. He ran into the hallway, and crashed through the stairwell door as Howie jerked himself to his feet. 

"Lance, wait!" Howie yelled behind him, but the stairwell door slammed shut and blocked it out. 

Howie stood in the doorway of his suite. What had he done wrong? 

Lance ran down the stairs, racing to the lobby, barely able to see because of the tears streaming from his eyes. The whole way down all he heard was Justin, whispering over and over that it was wrong, it was bad, and that he liked it. Lance shook his head in violent negation, taking no notice of the people in the lobby as he burst out of the stairwell and charged out to his car. He drove in a blur, barely paying attention to anything, and found himself in the parking lot of the apartment complex finally. His phone began to ring, chirping loudly, and he switched it off, refusing to answer. 

In his apartment, Lance stripped out of his clothes, wanting more than anything to get in the shower. He felt it again, that stain, that dirt, that wrongness inside him, and he wanted to wash it clean, to scrub it all away. He got in the shower and began to scrub himself, over and over, turning the water up hotter and hotter, not even aware that he was crying the entire time, tears streaming down his face. Finally, when his skin was a bright, angry red, he switched the shower off and crawled into bed. The sheets felt rough against his skin, and he felt sore all over, but he still didn't feel clean. Turning his head, he saw the pictures of him and Howie on the nightstand. 

Howie. 

Lance saw Howie suddenly in his head, saw the look on Howie's face when he had shoved him away. It was a look of surprise, and hurt, and rejection. Howie hadn't been about to hurt him. Howie would never hurt him. Instead, Howie had opened himself up to Lance, had laid his heart completely bare, and Lance had shoved him away. Lance had hurt Howie, hurt someone who hadn't ever done anything to hurt him. 

Everything he did was wrong. 

Lance cried himself to sleep. 

---

CHAPTER 45

---

Carla was waiting patiently for me when the plane landed, despite the fact that it was much later here than it had been in Los Angeles. I noticed the large, probably "grande" cup of coffee next to her, and realized that it had to be the only thing keeping her awake. She saw me coming down the concourse and smiled, jumping up to hug me. I hadn't realized how much I'd been missing her until I actually saw her. In at least one way, it was good to be home. 

"Welcome back," she said, squeezing me tightly. "Sorry it's not under better circumstances." 

"Thanks," I said. "Want to go get my suitcase?" 

"Sure," she said, falling into step beside me. 

"So," I began, glancing over at her. "Tell me a story." 

"I'd love to," she said, shaking her head. "It's been a long frigging night, let me tell you. OK, so right after dinner I got this call from your landlord. He had my number because they wanted to come in last week and work on the heaters or something, and they wanted to do it now while no one has theirs on. Anyway, your landlord calls me to tell me that there's some graffiti on the side of the building, and that the girl who lives across the hall from you called because someone tossed something through your window." 

"OK, I'm with you so far," I said, as we waited by the carousel for my suitcase to come sliding by. 

"So I drive over, and there's like three cop cars, because your landlord gave the police your name, and some dipshit at the police station was like, 'Oh my God, do you know who that is?' so every cop in town shows up," Carla continued, shaking her head. "I got out of the car, and they were actually setting up police tape around your building." 

"Jesus," I said, shaking my head. "Why?" 

"Because the TV station sent their news van, and they wanted to look very official, I guess," Carla said, shrugging. 

"They sent a news van? For me?" I asked, surprised. "Carla, I'm nobody." 

"Yes, but you're dating somebody," she clarified. "Local news has been all over that with community reaction and all that crap. Very circuslike. The newspaper sent someone, too, so don't be surprised if this ends up on the AP wire. Anyway, I'm convincing the guy at the barricade that I actually am allowed inside, and your landlord comes and drags me in so we can go survey the damage." 

"Don't keep me in suspense," I grumbled, grabbing my suitcase. We began to walk toward the main doors. 

"You really want to know?" she asked. "Because, I mean, I'm taking you over there in the morning." 

"Just tell me now and get it over with," I said with tired resignation. I needed to know what we were dealing with, so that I wouldn't be totally surprised when I saw it tomorrow. 

"Well, we have a 'No Fags', a 'No Queers', and a 'Kill All Queers' on the front of your apartment building, and your door says that 'Mr. Springer Likes Boys'," Carla began, lighting a cigarette as soon as we got outside. She glanced at me. "Are you really sure you want to hear this right now?" 

"I'm fine, Carla," I lied. "I'm going to see it tomorrow anyway." 

"OK, so, you, know, based on the door the cops are guessing some kids from school did it," Carla continued. "Of course nobody saw anything, even though they took statements from everyone in your building and all of the neighbors. The brick through your window had a note wrapped around it, with a rubber band. The police wouldn't let me take it, of course, but it was mostly just this thing about how 'we' don't want 'your kind' here in our town, or some such bullshit. They said they'd be happy to show it to you if you want to come down to the station." 

"We'll see," I said. "What about the news people?" 

"Well, I didn't talk to anyone, but it was all over the local news at 11," Carla answered, driving toward her house. "I figured you can stay with me, since none of them know where I live, and at least that way you'll get some peace and quiet. Your landlord and I, and Tom, that guy who lives above you, got a piece of plywood up in your window frame, and nothing inside your apartment was broken. Then Tom helped me clean up the glass. How come you never introduced me to him before, by the way?" 

"Because he lives with his fiancee," I answered, smiling. Only Carla would look for a man while dealing with landlords, police, and reporters. 

"Not anymore," Carla corrected, grinning. "They broke up two weeks ago because she was cheating on him. We're having dinner on Monday." 

I shook my head as we both laughed. 

"As long as something positive comes from this," I said, giggling. 

"Shut up," Carla said, grinning. "This'll work out, for you and me both. Getting back to the rest of the story, though, I talked to your landlord, and he says that he's not going to terminate your lease, since you're a good tenant and he has no grounds to, so at least you're not getting evicted." 

"Who's paying for the damage?" I asked. 

"I forgot to ask," Carla admitted, shrugging. 

I thought about all of this for a few minutes as we sped down the dark highways, headlights washing over us from passing cars. Carla finished her cigarette and lit up another one, and I bummed one off of her. Her eyebrows went up, and you could tell that something really sarcastic was dangling on the tip of her tongue, but she held it in. I was all prepared to offer the excuse that I was under stress and that made it ok, too. My house had been attacked. Someone had come to my home and written things on the walls. Someone had broken my window, broken into my space. And why? Not because of anything I had done to them, but because of who I was. It wasn't fair, but life was usually like that. Not only that, but the police had now pestered all of my neighbors. Maybe I should send them all little notes to apologize. 

"Carla, answer this honestly, ok?" I began, looking over at her. "What have people been saying?" 

"Honestly?" she asked, shrugging, stalling for time. "It hasn't been too bad, actually. I mean, you're out to everyone who knows you anyway, so it's not like people are really surprised. Well, not about that, anyway. Lots of people are really surprised about who you're dating, especially when they found out that JC was actually here. You guys made the front page of the Lifestyles section of the paper the other day. I saved it for you." 

"Gee, thanks," I said. "I'll add it to my scrapbook." 

"Oh, I've been keeping one for you, don't worry," Carla said, shrugging. "If you're asking about whether there's been lots of uproar, then no, not really. Like I said, most people are just like, 'Oh, how'd Jack meet him?'" 

"You didn't tell anyone, did you?" I asked, curious. 

"Of course not," she answered. "With you out of town, everybody's been calling me to get the scoop. I'm the most popular girl in school, let me tell you. I've been asked out to so many things in the past couple days I won't have to cook for weeks. That new girl who teaches in the music department even wanted to know if I could get you to ask JC to have the band come for the Christmas concert." 

"That's six months from now, " I pointed out. 

"I know," Carla said, shrugging. "I've never had so much fun teaching summer school. And the kids? Oh my God, I've never seen people take such an interest in Health. I think every girl in summer school right now tried to switch into my classes. I have girls coming up to my desk after every class going, 'Miss Donato, have you talked to Mr. Springer? Is he coming back soon? Is JC coming with him?' And, you know, Racquelle's told that story about him helping her in the library about a thousand times now." 

"Sorry," I said, shaking my head. I don't know why the things some of our kids did continued to surprise me, but they did. "So, if nobody seems really upset, where does the rest of this come in?" 

"Oh, you mean the petition," Carla said, as I nodded. "That's just a bunch of bullshit, Jack. Don't let it bother you." 

"Maggie said they were at the grocery store?" I asked. Maggie White was one of the social studies teachers. 

"Yeah, she called my cell phone while I was on my way to your apartment," Carla said. "Apparently some of the parents were out in front of the store, talking about how you were going to bring undue media attention to the school, and that it would be disruptive to the kids' education. It's Constance Martin's mother, so you know what this is really about." 

Constance Martin was the president of the church youth group, and her mother was legendary at the school for trying to bring back prayer before football games and for trying to block the science department from teaching evolution. At Open House every fall it was a ritual that new teachers had Mrs. Martin pointed out to them, because they'd have to deal with her at some point. There were six other Martins besides Constance. One of them was bound to come through one of your classes at some point. 

"So it's the gay thing," I said unhappily. 

"Yeah, it is, but she's not going to say that," Carla said. "Instead she's hiding behind this idea that somehow you're going to transform the school into this big media circus, and that there are going to be newsvans parked out front of the school every day harassing the kids and keeping them from getting an education." 

"But Carla, I've been gay all along," I said, shrugging. "It's not like it was a secret. Why is it suddenly a problem now?" 

"Maggie asked her the same question at the grocery store," Carla said, smiling. "She wouldn't come right out and answer her, but we think we have it. Jack, you being gay isn't just something for the kids to make jokes about anymore, the way they talk about all of us, and who's dating whom, and everything else we do and don't do and are rumored to have done. Now, Mrs. Martin turns on her TV, and there you are flaunting it for the whole world to see. Suddenly, God forbid, the kids might actually think it's cool." 

"OK, Carla, the kids are never going to think it's cool to be gay," I said, laughing. "Football players aren't going to watch MTV and then start making out with each other." 

"No probably not," Carla agreed, laughing. "But Jack, maybe they'll think that it's cool for someone else to be gay. Where the hell is that going to leave people like Alice Martin?" 

"In the dark ages where they belong?" I asked. "Carla, kids already think it's ok. They have movies, and their TV shows, and soap operas. I mean, Jesus, Carla, you can buy rainbow rings at Claire's in the mall. It's not exactly counterculture." 

"I can't believe I'm arguing this with you," Carla said. "Jack, are you living under a rock? Yes, people might be a little more open to it, but they're not half as accepting as you're trying to argue that they are, and you know I'm right." 

I admitted nothing, sighing grudgingly. 

"Carla, why are you so worried about this?' I asked, confused. "Alice Martin is a nutjob. Everyone knows that." 

"Yeah, but she's got some of the other parents supporting her," Cara said, shaking her head. "And Maggie said they already had over a hundred names on their petition." 

Suddenly I didn't want to hear anymore. Over a hundred names? Over a hundred people had signed a petition saying that I should lose my job because I was a danger to the kids, because I was a threat to the school? Over a hundred people thought I should be put out of work, put out into the streets, because of who I loved? Some of them must be people I knew. Some of them must be people that I saw at school, or people who dropped by during open house. They must be the people I saw at the post office, or the grocery store, people who had smiled at me and said hello, but who had apparently been thinking something else all along. The kids who painted my walls must be kids I knew, too. Kids who came into my library, kids I passed in the halls, kids I had never been anything but nice to. 

We didn't speak for the rest of the ride. Carla turned the radio on, and we listened to it, staring out the windows. I don't know what she was thinking, and I didn't want to ask. I was just thinking about how wrong I'd been, how I didn't really know anyone, and nothing was the way I thought it was or should be. I thought that I was so comfortable with my life, that everyone who was nice to me really didn't care if I was gay or not. I'd become complacent, because I was content. I took everyone at face value, assumed that everyone wanted to be my friend, because that's the way I treated them. Josh had told me once that one of the things he loved about me was the way I thought I knew it all, and I realized that I didn't really know anything. 

When we got to Carla's, she helped me pull out the sleeper sofa, since she lived in a one bedroom, and then, yawning, she told me she was going to bed. I realized that I hadn't even thanked her yet, after she'd put up with a hell of a lot for me this evening. 

"Carla, thank you for everything," I said, hugging her. 

"That's what friends are for, kiddo," she said, stepping back. She looked at me for a second, peering into my eyes like a scientist. "You miss him, don't you?" 

"Yeah," I answered, nodding. "How can you tell?" 

"I don't know," she said, shrugging. "You just look kind of, I don't know, kind of lost, or incomplete. You've got the same look on your face that you have when you can't find your wallet or your car keys, like you're missing something important and have no idea where it is." 

"Yeah, that just about sums it up," I said, pulling my phone from my pocket. "I think I'm going to call him. It's late, but he's probably trying to wait up." 

I could see Josh in my mind's eye, sitting up in bed, trying to read a magazine, nodding off and forcing himself awake again. Josh needed a certain amount of sleep every day, and once he started yawning at night, that was it. One yawn, and you had about five minutes before he was out like a light. No matter how tired he was, though, I knew he wouldn't let himself fall asleep until he talked to me, and knew that I was ok. 

"Well, tell the boy I said hi," Carla said, walking toward her bedroom. "I'll be in here if you need to talk, ok? Good night, Jack." 

"Night, Carla, and thanks again," I said. She closed her door, and I sat on the bed, dialing Josh with one hand as I pulled off my shoes with the other. 

"Thizzish JC," Josh slurred into the phone. 

"Gosh, you sure sound sexy when you're half-awake, Joshua," I said, smiling. I began to strip out of my clothes. 

"Jack!" he said, sounding a lot more awake. "Hi! Is everything ok? How are you? Where are you?" 

"Slow down, Josh, please," I said, laughing. "I'm at Carla's, and it's very quiet here. She told me all about everything that's going on, and I'm going to go check on my apartment and see the police tomorrow." 

"Is it really bad?" Josh asked. I heard him click on the lamp next to the bed, and imagined him sitting up, the sheet falling away from his bare, tanned torso. "I'm worried about you, and I miss you." 

"I'm ok, I guess," I answered, trying to decide how I felt. "I mean, I'm not happy. I guess right now I just kind of feel really surprised, and hurt, more than anything else. Carla said over a hundred people have signed this petition thing." 

"Jack, do you need a lawyer?" Josh asked seriously. "I can send someone, you know." 

"No, Josh, I don't think it's anywhere near that bad yet," I answered quickly. "I'm going to go in and see my principal tomorrow, but I'm pretty sure the school is going to stand behind me on this one." 

"OK, but if you need anything, just call me, please," Josh said. 

"I will, Josh, I promise," I said, leaning back into the bed. It wasn't exactly comfortable. "I miss you, too." 

"It feels so strange being here without you," Josh sighed. "I mean, the bed seems like it's just huge, and empty. I keep expecting you to come out of the bathroom, or up from the pool, or something. I just feel kind of lost right now." 

"I know how you feel," I agreed, because I felt it, too. I don't know when Josh and I had suddenly become inseparable, but I just felt empty inside without having him right there. "All I keep doing in the back of my head is trying to figure out how fast I can handle all of this, so I can get back to you." 

"This is a lot harder than I thought it would be," he sighed again. 

"Being a couple?" I asked, confused. 

"No, being apart," he answered. We were both quiet for a minute, just listening to each other breathe, trying to figure out some way to reach across the miles between us. "Hey, Jack, what's Carla's address?" 

I gave it to him, and then asked, "Why? Should I expect something?" 

"Maybe," he answered, and I could hear the smile in his voice. "And don't start any of that stuff you usually do about how you don't want presents, ok?" 

"I didn't say a word," I said defensively. "Will I like it?" 

"I know you will," he answered. "Look for it tomorrow, at about five, your time." 

"I love you so much, Josh," I said, sighing. 

"I know, because I love you that much, too," Josh answered. 

"On that note, and since you sound so tired, I'm going to order you to go to sleep," I said. "I'm not having you in trouble at the studio tomorrow." 

"OK, but you be careful tomorrow, too, ok?" Josh asked. "You sound down, and I'm worried about you." 

"I'll be fine, Josh, I swear, " I said. "Don't get distracted over me, ok?" 

"Can't help it," he sighed. "Good night, Jack." 

"Good night, Josh," I answered. 

After I hung up the phone it took me a very long time to fall asleep. At first I thought it was because I couldn't get comfortable in the bed, but eventually I realized that it was because I couldn't get comfortable without Josh. I missed him, and he missed me, and all that seemed to add up to was a situation with no winners. 

In the morning Carla was up before me, but tried to be quiet. After she showered and got dressed, I crawled into the shower, cursing the fact that my body stubbornly insisted that it was the middle of the night. I met Carla at the table, where she pushed a cup of coffee and the morning newspaper toward me. Since it was the local paper, it was small enough that the vandalism, combined with the story of the petition, made the front page, but at least it was below the fold. 

"Shit," I murmured, sipping my coffee. "How the hell did they put the two together so fast?" 

"Alice Martin probably called the paper herself," Carla said, shaking her head. 

I skimmed the article, reading over the paragraphs about outraged parents concerned that their children not be exposed to a "media circus", or the "low morals" so prevalent in the entertainment industry. I wondered if that might border on slander, but figured that the paper probably had a legal department to checked such things. And it was part of a quote from Mrs. Martin, not from the newspaper itself. If I decided to sue her, though, it would just generate more publicity. The rest of the article offered a recap of the awards ceremony the other night, including the "surprising revelation" that JC Chasez was "seriously involved" with local high school librarian Jack Springer, who could not be reached for comment. 

"I can't believe this is our newspaper," I said, shaking my head. "It's worse than People magazine." 

"Hey, you're the closest thing we have to a local celebrity," Carla said, grinning. "So, what's our plan for the day?" 

"Well, since you said I can take the car, I'm dropping you off at school," I began. "Then I'm going to check on my apartment, and survey the damage. After that, the police station, and then I'm heading back to school to meet with Principal Richardson. After that we head back here, and wait for a five o'clock delivery of some sort of gift from Josh." 

"Is it a chef again?" Carla asked excitedly. "I liked that present!" 

"God knows," I said, shaking my head. "All I know is he said to be here, and that I'd like it." 

"You're so spoiled," she said, as we gathered her things and headed for the car. "I hate you." 

"You're just jealous," I said, laughing. 

I dropped Carla off at the school, driving all the way around the back to avoid being seen by any of the summer school students. I didn't want to deal with my almost-celebrity status at the moment. While hiding in the school parking lot, I also called the secretary in the main office, and got my appointment for the afternoon. Not a normally friendly woman, today she seemed to have been dipped in ice, at least to me, and I wondered if she was one of the one hundred names. Dismissing the thought, I drove to my apartment. 

Fortunately for the vandals, but not so much so for us, the exterior of the building was off-white siding, and the words stood out starkly, even from a distance. Carla had told me what they said last night, but that still didn't compare to actually seeing them, to standing outside the place where I lived and knowing that someone had come there and done this specifically to hurt me. I didn't recognize the handwriting, but would have been surprised if I did. Going in, I didn't see any of my neighbors, so I keyed into my apartment for a look around. As Carla had promised, nothing appeared to be broken, except for the window, and she and Tom had done a good job of cleaning up the broken glass. I saw it sparkling in the garbage can. 

The plywood rectangle glared from its space on the wall, and it made the whole front room of the apartment rather dark. Even after I switched on a light, it still looked rather dark, and somewhat depressing. There was a fine layer of dust over everything, and my whole apartment had the air of an unused, long empty space. It had only been a few weeks, but there was just an atmosphere of emptiness hanging so thickly about the entire place. I wondered if it had always been there, and if maybe I hadn't noticed because I had been rather empty the entire time I lived here, too. I realized right then what I had been feeling last night, and this morning. Home didn't really feel like home anymore. It no longer felt at all like a place where I belonged, or where I could be happy. 

I tried to shake the feeling, tried to tell myself that I was just upset over the graffiti, but it stuck with me all day, clinging to me like the smell of smoke will long after you leave a bar. At the police station, I spoke with the investigator handling the case, a man who looked at me sideways as if he didn't really think this merited much police attention. He explained that they had no leads, but would do everything they could. I thanked him and left, noticing people looking at me and whispering as I walked out. By the time I got to the school, I was about ready to slap the next person who pointed at me and muttered something behind their hand. The secretary favored me with a frosty glare of contempt, and wouldn't make eye contact as she announced to Mr. Richardson that I was there, and then showed me in. 

"So, Jack," Mr. Richardson began, shaking my hand. He was a large man, some sort of ex-jock of some kind, but was always friendly. "That's quite a tan you're getting. How's the summer treating you?" 

"It's been odd, Don," I answered, smiling. "Or haven't you seen the news?" 

"Oh, you know, it would be hard to miss, especially with the girls begging me to invite you and your friend over for dinner," Don answered, smiling. He had twin teenage daughters, and was raising them both by himself. I imagined that the house must be a constantly simmering storm of teenage angst. "You don't want to come over, by the way, do you? The girls are enormous fans of the band, although, to be honest, they had to explain to me which one was which." 

"I don't know if I can make it out for dinner, but I bet I can get something sent out to the house," I answered. Don had always been nice to me. "Something autographed. You know." 

"That would be great, Jack, but you don't have to go to any trouble," Don said, leaning back in his chair. That was usually the signal that small talk was over. "So, what brings you to my office on your vacation?" 

"Carla called me last night, " I answered, leaning back as well. "Did you see the paper this morning?" 

"Oh, yes," Don said. "Sorry to hear about your apartment, and I hope all of your things are ok, but that's not what you wanted to talk about, is it?" 

"Not really, but thanks," I answered. "Everything's fine." 

"If it's about the petition, it's garbage," Don said, crossing his hands. "I already talked to the superintendent, and we have no intention of removing you or asking you to step down, regardless of how many parents protest. You've gotten the highest level performance evaluations for your entire time with us. There has never been a single concern about your commitment or your performance, and this vague morality issue they're trying to raise is just ignorant, uneducated bullshit." 

My eyebrows went up. Don never swore unless he was truly pissed off about something. 

"As for the media circus, well, do you see a circus?" he asked, gesturing toward the window behind him. I shook my head. "Yeah, me neither. The media can't enter school grounds without permission anyway, and it's hard to fire someone on the grounds that you think something might happen just because they work here, especially if they're not doing anything to cause it. Does that about sum up the official position of the administration for you, Jack?" 

"Actually, it does," I answered, matching his grin. 

"So what else can I do for you?" Don asked. 

"Well, in light of what you just said, this is going to sound a little odd," I began. "I do want to say thank you, both to you as a friend and to the rest of the administration, for supporting me on this. I've never felt like you didn't, and it really has meant a lot to me. What I need you to do, though, Don, is to agree to write me a really good recommendation, and to please accept my resignation without any hard feelings." 

Don gaped at me, open mouthed. 

"Jack, are you leaving the field?" he asked finally. 

"No, I'm just thinking of relocating," I answered. "And yes, before you ask, it's for Josh. He hasn't asked me to, not seriously, but I love him, Don. I love him enough to uproot myself for him, and I think I'm going to be with him for a long time." 

"This is kind of sudden. Are you sure?" he asked. I nodded. "Then I guess we have a couple other things to talk about." 

When Don and I finally finished, everything was set and signed. I asked him to please keep it to himself for a couple days, until I could tell all of my friends on the staff, and he agreed, wishing me luck. I promised to keep in touch, and then went to go collect Carla. 

"How did it go?" she asked. 

"Fine," I answered. "I'll tell you everything over dinner." 

We stopped on the way home to get some groceries, and to grab a few newspapers. Sure enough, the story had gone out over the AP wire, but the major papers didn't seem to consider it much more than a tiny blurb. It probably wouldn't even have been counted as that if it hadn't happened so close to the main story. Josh and I really needed to hurry up and decide who we were going to give an interview to, I realized. 

Carla and I both tried to act nonchalant and unconcerned, but we were both watching the clock like hawks with prey, following the hands as they spun on their inexorable path toward five. At ten of, we heard a knock at the door. Both of us jumped up, running for it. 

"It's my present!" I said, elbowing her out of the way. 

"It's my house!" she replied. "And it could just be the neighbors wanting a cup of sugar or something." 

I yanked the door open, and it wasn't a present or a neighbor. 

It was Josh. 

 

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