JC's Hitchhiker

Chapters 31-35

 


CHAPTER 31


Joey wasn't up yet when I woke up. I quickly got dressed in the clothes I'd been wearing yesterday, and collected the green envelope from the nightstand, along with my keys. I looked around for paper, but the bedroom was bare. In the main room I saw some Superman comics on the coffee table, but assumed that Joey wouldn't want me writing on them. There was a dry erase board on the refrigerator, so I decided to leave a note there, glancing at Joey's to-do list. 

"Call studio - talk to Bruce and Stacy. Find outfit for awards show." 

The awards show was coming up in a week or so. I couldn't remember which one it was, since the guys seemed to get invited to everything whether they were nominated or not, but Josh had said he'd be back in time for them to go. 

"Take Chris out to Wilshire - scout location. Call Steve." 

Steve was Joey's brother. I didn't know a lot about him, but Joey had said that he was in New York right now. Josh told me that Steve usually came on tour with them, to keep Joey from feeling homesick, so I figured I'd meet him eventually. 

Unless my stalker gutted me like a fish tomorrow, and left my corpse in a dumpster. 

I shook my head quickly, wishing Joey hadn't put that horror movie in the VCR before we went to sleep last night. Finding a space at the bottom of the to-do list, I left Joey a quick note. 

"Joey - thanks for being there, and for taking care of me. Not sure where I'll be today, but am going to work on things. Will call you later. - Jack." 

I left Joey's apartment and went back to Josh's. It was empty, of course, but inhaling sharply in the living room I could smell the ghost of his cologne, like a shadow of Josh still there with me. I thought again about how much I missed him, and sent him a text message on the cell phone wishing him luck, telling him I loved him, and asking him to call me when he got time. I went out for my run, without Chris, and didn't see him on the streets anywhere. I didn't expect to, since I was about a half hour earlier than our regular time. The whole time I was running, my eyes were darting from side to side, scanning, watching, trying to figure out who might be watching me, but then I decided to just concentrate on one problem at a time. My psycho pen pal could wait until tomorrow, when I knew exactly where he (or she) would be. 

Today I was going to deal with Justin. 

I flipped through morning television for a while, because I couldn't concentrate on my book, and I thought it might be a little too early to go banging on Justin's door. I couldn't really do much else, as I had cleaned the entire apartment the other day, and I didn't even want to think about the kind of chore that organizing Josh's closet would be. He had a lot of nice, regular clothes, but there were also so many things that I wouldn't even be able to classify. I kept my stuff toward the front of the closet, near his more normal outfits, but had been surprised to note the other day that Josh had actually packed and taken some of my clothes with him. 

Not finding anything particularly absorbing on the television, I walked down to the corner store to get the paper, since I didn't want to go downstairs and borrow Chris's. He'd said not to come back until I was ready to talk, and I wasn't ready yet. Still, I kind of wished we weren't fighting, but I wasn't going to be the one who gave in first. Bringing the paper back to the apartment, I noted on my way in that Justin's Mercedes was in the parking lot, but I decided it was still a little early. 

Pawing through the paper, I only barely skimmed the major news stories before turning to Basil Morgan's stupid gossip column, which I just couldn't seem to prevent myself from reading. It had been quiet yesterday, but his legion of snitches, as I imagined there had to be, since he couldn't possibly be running around doing all of this himself, made up for it today. 

"Feel like dancing? Rumor has it that one of the members of a certain Pop-ular boyband did the other night, renting an entire ballroom at the Beverly Hills Hilton for the whole evening! Dinner was served, and dancing followed, but nobody's talking about who the partner on his dance card is!" 

Oh, so the hotel prides itself on being discreet, does it? I had a good mind to call Josh and let him know that the hundreds of dollars in tips had been more or less wasted, because someone had still opened their mouth and blabbed to the press. Then again, it could be worse. There were no on-the-record quotes, and no photographs. A blind item wasn't the end of the world, and my stalker only seemed to like the stories with pictures. Folding up the paper, I decided that I'd procrastinated long enough, and I walked over to Justin's and knocked loudly on the door. Not getting a response, I knocked again, and finally he jerked the door open. 

Justin was barefoot and shirtless, wearing only a baggy pair of gray sweatpants that weren't tied. My eyes, involuntarily sliding down the lines of his torso, following the dangling strings at his waist, and I noticed that beneath his sweatpants Justin was hard. I wondered if I had woken him up after all as I jerked my gaze back up to his face. He appeared not to notice my wandering visual tour of his sculpted torso or my surprised appraisal of his condition. 

"Jack?" he asked, one hand on his hip. He didn't sound sleepy, just surprised. "What are you doing here?" 

"I need to talk to you," I said, trying not to be distracted. 

"It's not really a good time, Jack," Justin said, holding the door open with one upraised arm as he leaned on it. The edge of the door pressed on his pointing nipple, and I wondered if it hurt before jerking my eyes back to his face again. This was not going well, but I was determined to see this through. 

"I don't care," I said, putting my hand on the door. "I need to talk to you, now. Can I come in?" 

"Jack," he began again, not yielding, keeping the door in place. 

"I won't be here long," I said. I hoped not to be, anyway. "I just need to talk to you, and then you can get back to whatever you were doing." 

"Fine," he said, stepping aside finally. I walked past him, my shoulder brushing the protruding curves of his pecs, and he closed the door behind me as I sat on the couch. He raised his eyebrows. "Gee, Jack, won't you sit down? What's up?" 

"I need to talk to you," I said, stalling. 

He still stood by the door, hands on his hips, chest spread, abs relaxed but still visible, cock still pushing out the front of his sweatpants. 

"You mentioned that," Justin said, crossing his arms as he leaned back on the wall, biceps bulging enticingly, tattoos dancing. "Is everything ok? Is something wrong with Josh?" 

"No, no, Josh is fine," I said, wondering how I could even go about starting this. I used up most of my gumption just getting inside Justin's apartment. 

"Then, well, I don't want to be rude, but I was right in the middle of something," Justin said, walking over and sitting on the back of the couch, only about a foot from me. It was classic Justin body positioning. To talk to him, I'd have to look up, past his naked chest, to see his face. I realized that once I knew the tricks, they didn't work so well, at least not to arouse me. I wondered if he was doing it consciously, or if he was just always in psycho-manipulative mode. "So, what exactly was it you wanted to talk about?" 

"You and Lance," I said, just blurting it out. 

"What about me and Lance?" Justin asked, walking around the couch. He was now perched on the arm at the other end, a little farther from me, but turned, his golden tanned back muscles standing out in the twist and his sweatpants riding a little lower, just above his ass. 

"About what's going on with you," I said. 

"What do you think is going on?" Justin asked, swiveling a little, now presenting his torso in profile. His voice was still level, and his eyes fairly screamed, "I'm clueless." 

"About what you're doing to him," I continued, wondering if he was going to finally say it first, or if I'd have to keep dragging it out of myself. 

"What I'm doing to him?" Justin asked, eyebrows raised. "What is it that I'm doing to Lance?" 

"You know, Justin," I said, gritting my teeth. "Don't make me say it. You know what you're doing." 

If the physical game wasn't working, Justin was apparently going to play his verbal games instead, or maybe he was trying both at once, to see which would land a bullseye. 

"Do I?' he asked, sliding down the arm of the couch and onto the seat. He turned, throwing his arm across the back, his torso stretched out in front of me. "I don't know what you think I'm doing to Lance, but all I know is that I'm talking to Lance, and being his friend." 

"Justin, I saw you," I said. 

"Saw me what, Jack?" Justin asked, his voice dropping lower, becoming huskier. He began to lean toward me. "What did you see, Jack?" 

He leaned even closer to me, his torso stretching, muscles flexing, eyes glittering as he sat like a big piece of candy in his low riding, untied sweatpants. Even though I knew what he was doing, and knew that this was all part of it, I only knew it on a mental level. On a physical one, I was hard and throbbing as he sat nearly naked next to me, leaning in. 

"Tell me what you saw, Jack, " he whispered, licking his lips, pink tongue darting out over them. "Tell me." 

I recognized the words, and the whole scene between Lance and Justin rushed back to me. It was exactly the wrong thing for Justin to have done, because suddenly all my rage was back, all my anger, everything I had felt standing in the backyard with the sun beating down on me and my mouth open in shock. I didn't want to fuck him. I wanted to punch him in the face. 

"I saw you and Lance in his bedroom the day before yesterday," I spat, glaring at him. I saw his eyes widen in surprise. "I saw it all, Justin, and I heard what you said. You make me sick." 

He flinched at that, and I wondered if Justin's friends ever stood up to him. He leaned back immediately, pulling his body out of my space, but I wasn't foolish enough to think he was done playing games. 

"You saw what, exactly?" he asked, his face neutral. "You saw Lance enjoying himself? You saw me giving Lance what he wanted?" 

"I saw Lance crying," I said. "I saw Lance degraded and humiliated. You didn't even treat him like a human being, Justin. You just forced yourself on him, and made him your personal cum receptacle." 

Justin smiled coldly. 

"You saw me force myself on Lance?" he asked. "Are you sure that's what you saw?" 

"I know what I saw, Justin," I answered. "Don't play semantics with me." 

"Oh, I'm not," he said, shrugging. "I just want to make sure we're on the same page. You saw me rape Lance?" 

"I never said that," I said. "You're twisting my words." 

"No, I'm not," Justin argued, eyes flashing. "I'm just trying to clear up what you thought you saw. You say I forced myself on Lance, but from where I was standing, it looked pretty fucking consensual." 

His argument was valid, but I wasn't buying it. 

"You tricked him," I said, shaking my head. 

"I tricked him?" Justin asked, incredulous, eyes wide, smiling disbelievingly. "I tricked my dick into his mouth? That's a hell of a trick, Jack." 

"You tricked him," I said again. "You snared him." 

"No, Jack, I gave him what he wanted," Justin countered. 

"He didn't want it, Justin!" I snapped. "He cried the entire time." 

Justin gave me the same lecturing, slightly condescending look he had given Lance. 

"And since he cried, you think it was a bad thing?" Justin asked. 

"Of course it was a bad thing!" I answered. Why wouldn't he see this? "It was cruel." 

"Jack, did it occur to you that maybe that's what Lance wanted?" Justin asked. "Did you stop to think that maybe he liked it?" 

"No," I answered carefully. He was trapping me again, and it had happened so fast I was already caught. 

"Of course you didn't," Justin answered. "You assume he didn't like it because it's not what you like. Did it look to you like that was the first time it happened? Because it wasn't, Jack. It wasn't the first time Lance went down on me, and it wasn't the first time I talked to him like that. He likes it, Jack. You heard him say so." 

"I heard you force him to say so," I said. 

"There you are with that forcing thing again," Justin said. "Did you happen to notice that I was going to leave, twice, and he stopped me both times? Lance didn't do anything he didn't want to." 

"He didn't want it like that, Justin," I insisted. 

"You're not listening to me at all!" Justin snapped. "That's exactly the way Lance wants it, Jack. Look who we're talking about. Lance is convinced, convinced, Jack, that sex is wrong. Sex is dirty. And two guys having sex is even dirtier." 

"No," I said, shaking my head. "No, Justin." 

"Yes! Yes, Jack, yes!" Justin insisted. "He thinks it's wrong, and immoral, and degrading. He expects it to be, and deep down, he wants it to be, because it means he's right. He wants it to be wrong because that means he's not." 

"Oh, and you're just trying to help him out?" I asked. 

"I'm giving him what he wants, Jack," Justin said. "And you can't say he doesn't want it, because he does. He has for years. When I finally took my cock out for him the other day he dropped on it so fast I thought he'd break it off. If he didn't want it, he wouldn't keep coming back." 

I stood, needing to shift, and walked across the room, crossing my arms over my chest. He had me, but I didn't want to admit it. 

"Sex doesn't have to be like that," I said. "It shouldn't be." 

"That's not true for everyone, Jack," Justin said, leaning back into the couch, throwing both his arms across the back, letting his legs fall casually open. I wanted to tell him to give up. I'd never touch him again, not that way, because he would win. Even if I rolled him over right now, and tore those pants off and gave him the angriest fuck of his life, he'd still win. "What you're really saying is that sex shouldn't be like that for you. You take someone to bed, and you want it to be beautiful, and special, and you want to make sure everyone's happy with it, because that's the way you see it. For you, sex is about love." 

"Sex is about love, Justin," I said, shaking my head again. 

"No, Jack," Justin said, staring at me. "For Lance, sex isn't about love. It's about sin." 

"And for you it's about punishment," I said, leaning back on the kitchen counter. 

He looked shocked again, and I went on the attack. 

"I know why you're doing this, Justin," I sneered. "You're not doing this because you're Lance's friend, or because you want to help him discover anything about himself. You're doing this because you're pissed at him, and you can see what this is doing to him, Justin. You can't pretend you don't. He looks like shit, Justin. He's breaking inside, and it's because of what you're doing to him, and you know it!" 

"Shut up," he said quietly, his eyes darting toward the closed bedroom door. 

"I will not shut up!" I yelled. "You know you're fucking him up, and you're enjoying it! What you're doing is wrong, Justin. It's wrong, and you know it. Admit it." 

"What?" he asked, staring at me, his mouth hanging open. I don't think Justin ever imagined I could have this much anger inside. 

"You heard me," I said icily. "You know it's wrong, Justin, you know it. Just say it. Say it, Justin!" 

"Fine!" he blurted, his face turning a furious red, his composure breaking wide open. "You're right, Jack! It's wrong, and I know it, and I'm only letting him blow me because I want to get back at him!" 

The two of us stared at each other, both breathing hard, and I realized what I'd done. I had turned the tables on Justin. I had sunk to his level, and used his own tactics, and I'd made him admit something he didn't want to say. I had put the shoe on the other foot, finally, and Justin didn't care for the way it fit. He glared at me, his eyes furious, and I wondered how we could possibly leave this room as friends. 

Just as quickly as I'd turned the tables, though, Justin turned them back. 

"Maybe what I'm doing is wrong, but what about what he's done?" Justin asked quietly. 

"That's not an excuse, Justin," I said, just as quietly. 

"Yes it is," Justin said. "I'm just treating Lance like he treats everyone else. You've heard him, Jack, you've heard what he says. You've heard what he said to Josh, and to you, and he wanted the same thing all along! He wanted it, Jack! He's probably just pissed you got to Josh first. He's been talking shit for years, Jack, and he's just gotten worse and worse. He hurt Josh, and he hurt you. Don't you care about that?" 

"Two wrongs don't make a right, Justin," I said. "I don't care what he said. He doesn't deserve this." 

"Yes he does!" Justin argued. "He's a fucking hypocrite, Jack!" 

"You're no better!" I countered. "You talk and talk and talk about your friends, and how important they are, and how you'd never hurt them, but Lance thinks you're his friend, Justin. He looks at you, and he sees someone he trusts not to hurt him, and you're walking all over that. You're just as bad as he is." 

The two of us stared at each other again across a gulf of silence, and then Justin stood, and walked over to his closed bedroom door. He smiled at me, but it wasn't a smile of friendship. 

"You're right, Jack," he said, practically grinning. "What I'm doing is wrong, and I should stop. I should stop right now." 

"Oh, no," I whispered, realizing how badly I had played this as he pushed the door open. I had come here with the best of intentions, and I had given him the worst weapon of all. 

"Come on out, Lance," Justin said quietly. "There are some things you need to hear." 

"Don't do this, Justin, please don't do this," I said, even as a teary-eyed Lance stepped out of Justin's bedroom. 

This is what Justin had been busy doing when I had come to the door. This is why he was barely dressed and throbbing hard. Lance had been here the whole time, and he had heard every single thing we had said. 

"You've been listening, haven't you, Lance?" Justin asked smugly, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"Yes," Lance answered, tears streaming down his cheeks as he looked back and forth between the two of us. 

"It's all true, Lance," Justin almost whispered, smiling at Lance. 

"No," Lance said, shaking his head slowly. 

"Oh, yes, Lance," Justin said. "Yes, it's all true. I've just been using you, Lance." 

"No," Lance said again. 

"Justin, stop it," I said, wanting to be anywhere but here. 

"Stop it, Jack? Stop it?" Justin asked. "I'm just doing what you wanted. I'm showing Lance the truth." 

Lance was shaking his head back and forth, his eyes squeezed closed. 

"You make me fucking sick, Lance," Justin said, leaning in close. "You're a hypocrite, and you're pathetic, and you let me use you like a Kleenex. All you are to me is someone who swallows my cum." 

"No," Lance said again. 

"Oh, yes," Justin insisted. "But that's not the worst part, is it Lance? The worst part isn't that I put you on your knees, and made you suck me off." 

Justin leaned in closer to him as I stared in horror. 

"The worst part is that you knew it all along, didn't you, Lance?" Justin said, smiling cruelly now. "The worst part is that you knew, and you liked it." 

"No!" Lance yelped, pushing Justin away. "No!" 

He began to run toward the front door, banging his knee on the coffee table. I tried to grab his arm as he went past, and he shoved me out of the way. He bolted from the apartment, sobbing hysterically, and I heard him running down the stairs to his apartment. I turned, and Justin was right behind me, up close and personal. He smiled again. 

"There, Jack," he said, chuckling. "Happy now?" 

The sound of my slap echoed through the apartment as my palm connected with the side of his face. He stepped back in wide-eyed shock, and I saw my red handprint standing out on his suddenly white face. 

"Stay the fuck away from me, Justin," I said. 

I turned and walked out of the apartment, leaving him standing by the couch, gently touching the side of his face in wonder, his hand tracing over the red outline of my anger. His face had to hurt, because my hand was stinging. I slammed the door behind me. For about the fiftieth time since this had begun I wished Josh was here. Running through the whole thing in my mind, I couldn't believe that not only had I stood up to Justin, but that I had slapped him. It hadn't been a light slap, either. It was a good, roundhouse, soap opera slap. 

The kind of slap that ends a friendship. 

I felt a shudder go through me as I realized this. I now had one friend here in the apartment building; Joey. Chris wasn't talking to me. When he said he was pissed, he must have meant it, although, to be honest, I wasn't talking to him either. Justin was probably in his living room, still touching his face and trying to figure out where he went wrong. Either that, or he was trying to figure out how he'd start to punish me, too. That wasn't a comforting thought at all. And then there was Lance, who had never been my friend. 

Lance, who might need a friend right now. 

While part of me wanted to go find somewhere to mope and pout and mourn the loss of my friendship with Justin, the rest of me decided that I had cried enough about my problems. Lance was hurt, and vulnerable, and he needed help more than I needed self- pity. While I refused to take blame for the way he was feeling right now, because I wouldn't let Justin put that on me, I was right in the middle of this, and I couldn't leave Lance feeling the way he was. I might not be the best person to help him, and he might not want my help, but I wasn't about to let that stop me. 

I walked downstairs and knocked on his door, but there was no answer, so I tried again. 

"Lance? Lance, it's Jack," I yelled, knocking hard. "Lance?" 

When he still didn't answer, I tried the doorknob, and found it unlocked. Pushing open the door, I was shocked by the condition of Lance's apartment. He wasn't around, but all the signs of someone in distress were. I closed the door behind me, not wanting one of the others to walk by and see this. 

"Lance?" I called again. 

The apartment was a mess. Clothing was strewn across the room, scattered here and there as if he had just dropped things where they landed, and it wasn't just today's clothing. The garbage can was overflowing, and walking closer I saw that not only was it filled with trash, but also there were empty vodka bottles mixed in. In the kitchen area the sink overflowed with dirty dishes, which were also stacked on the counter. There were a few on the dining room table as well, and a plate and fork sat stuck together on the coffee table. On the far side of the room I saw a dent in the wall, and a book on the floor below it. Curious, I walked over and picked it up, brushing the plaster dust off of the top. One corner was dented, where it had slammed into the wall, and when I turned it over, I gasped. 

It was Lance's Bible. 

My stomach was a clawing pit of dread as I absently put the Bible down on the couch. I'm not very religious, but I still didn't want to leave it on the floor. I spun toward the rest of the apartment. The doors of both bedrooms were open, showing more of the same, neither bed made, tissues, clothes, and plates and glasses everywhere, but there was no sign of Lance. I looked at the closed bathroom door, and realized that the shower was running. 

"Lance?" I called again, fearful suddenly. 

In my head a clock had begun to count backward as I walked toward the bathroom door. I'm sure I was moving at normal speed, but in my head it was the sludgy, dreamlike slowness that comes with your worst nightmares. The ticking voice in my mind whispered that Lance had only been out of my sight for a minute, surely no more than two minutes, and really, how much trouble could he have gotten into in that short space of time? Even as I thought this another part of my mind registered that the shirt I just stepped over was the one Lance had been wearing, and then my fingers closed over the doorknob with the same maddening slowness as my heart pounded in my ears. 

I pulled open the bathroom door and a cloud, a wave of steam blew out, the humidity slapping me in the face. At the back of the bathroom, the shower curtain was pulled closed, and I could see nothing through it, but Lance had to be in there. 

"Lance?" I asked, my voice shaking. "Lance, it's Jack. Lance, please, please answer me." 

I walked toward the curtain, my eyes flicking over the bathroom. The garbage can in here was overflowing as well, and the medicine cabinet stood open. Below it, on the sink, I saw Lance's razor, and felt a wave of dizziness wash over me, along with cold, biting fear. 

I grabbed the shower curtain and pulled it back, almost ripping it off the bar. 


CHAPTER 32


Lance was huddled in a naked ball in the back of the shower, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them, his face buried. His shoulders shook, and he flinched when I jerked the curtain open, pressing against the wall as if trying to push through it. His skin was a little pink from the heat of the water, but there was no blood swirling down the drain, putting my fears about the razor to rest. 

"Lance?" I asked quietly. 

He didn't answer, instead pulling himself even tighter into a ball, which I wouldn't have thought possible. I couldn't really hear him breathing over the noise of the shower, but I could tell by the shaking of his shoulders and the hitching of his chest expanding that he was crying. I sat on the edge of the tub and felt the water starting to splash me. 

"Lance, it's Jack," I said. He hadn't looked up, and I was afraid he might think I was Justin. "Lance, please talk to me." 

"Go away," he whimpered, his voice barely audible over the noise of the shower. "Don't look at me." 

I turned on the edge of the tub, so that I was facing away from him, and felt the water begin to soak the back of my shirt. Figuring that I was probably going to end up pretty wet before this was over, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and set it on the sink, out of reach of the shower spray. 

"I'm not looking at you, Lance," I said quietly. I didn't know if he'd look or not, so I continued. "I'm sitting on the edge of the tub, but my back is to you. I'm not looking at you, but I'm not leaving, either." 

"Please go away," Lance said quietly. "Please." 

"Lance, I can't do that," I said, staring at the wall, hoping he wasn't getting ready to lunge at me from behind or put me in a headlock or something. 

"Why?" he asked. 

"Because you're in pain, Lance," I answered. "I can't leave you until I know you're ok." 

"Don't you hate me?" he asked quietly. 

I sighed, feeling my shirt starting to stick to me from the water. 

"I don't hate you, Lance," I said. "Why would I hate you?" 

He didn't answer right away, and I wondered again what he was doing back there. He was probably exactly as I had left him, curled up in a ball, sobbing against the wall. I wanted very badly to turn and look, but I wanted him to feel like he had some control of what was going on. If he didn't want me to look at him, I wouldn't look. 

"Because I hate myself," he said. It was the first thing he had said that wasn't in a quiet, broken voice. He said it with such conviction that I wanted to just give up now. 

"I hope that's not true," I said. "Even if it is, I can't leave because I care about you." 

"How can you care about me?" he asked, his voice rising. "How can you care about me after what I did to you? And what I did to JC? And what I let Justin do? You know what I let him do to me! How can you care about me when you know what I am?" 

His voice had risen almost to a scream. I started to turn and he screamed again. 

"Don't look at me!" 

"I'm sorry!" I blurted. "I'm sorry, I forgot, I just wanted to make sure you were ok. I'm not looking, Lance, I'm not. I'm sorry." 

But I knew that if he saw me turn he was at least looking at my back. It was a small step, sure, but it was a step. 

"Lance, it doesn't matter to me what you did to Josh and I," I said, and I realized as I said it that I actually meant it. 

"But I hurt you," he said. 

"I don't care," I replied. "It doesn't matter to me. It's in the past, and no matter what you did, you had reasons for it. Maybe you were surprised, maybe you were scared, but I won't believe that you actually wanted to hurt Josh or me. That's not who you are, Lance." 

"You don't know who I am," Lance whispered. 

"No, I don't, not really," I agreed. "But I know a little about how you feel. I know what it's like to not know who you are, or to know it and not want to believe it. I know what it's like to grow up your whole life being told one thing, and seeing that the whole world is one way, and then realizing that maybe, just maybe, you're another." 

"No," Lance said quietly behind me. "I can't be like you. I can't." 

His voice was clearer, making me think that maybe he didn't have his head buried in his arms any longer. 

"I'm not saying you have to be," I said. "Be yourself, Lance." 

"This can't be who I am," he said, crying again. "It can't. This is wrong." 

"Who told you that?" I asked. 

"Everyone knows," he answered. "The Bible says." 

"I don't know a lot about the Bible, Lance, but I'm pretty sure it doesn't say anything about hate," I said. "You believe in God, right? Do you think God wants to see you like this? Do you think this would make God happy, to know that one of his creatures is in this much pain?" 

"Maybe I deserve to be in pain," Lance said quietly. 

"No one deserves to feel like this, Lance," I said. My back was now completely soaked, as was the back of my pants, but I kept staring at the wall. 

"But I lied, Jack," Lance said quietly. "I lied to everyone. I always have. I lied and I lied and I kept lying, and every time I did I got in a little deeper, and then I lied to myself. And I thought if I did it enough, if I lied enough, I could do it so well that it would be true. I have to be what everyone else wants. I have to be, or they'll know I lied. Everyone will know, and they'll hate me for it." 

"Lance, there's always a time when you have to stop lying," I said. "There's a time when you have to be honest with other people, but most of all you have to be honest with yourself. And your friends won't hate you for it, Lance. The people who love you, and the people who care about you, they won't hold it against you." 

"I don't have any friends, Jack," Lance said, from right behind me. "I don't know who my friends are." 

"I can think of one," I said. "I'd like to be your friend, Lance." 

I felt his hand, wet and wrinkled, settle gently onto my shoulder. 

"Do you, do you mean that?" he asked quietly. 

"Of course I do," I answered, turning finally. He didn't scream or flinch this time, so I kept turning until my legs and feet were on the inside of the tub, instead of the dry outside. Lance's face floated before me, plaintive, hopeful, and scared, and tears streamed from his eyes. 

"Good," he said, pulling me into the tub as he collapsed against me, pressing his head to my chest. "Because I think I need one." 

"I think you do, too," I said, pulling him into a tight hug against me as the shower streamed down on us. I felt him sobbing, taking great hitching breaths against my chest. "It's ok, Lance. Go ahead and let it all out." 

I don't know how long we stayed like that, lying against each other in the bottom of the tub as the shower ran. I just held onto Lance's shoulders, staring up at the ceiling as he sobbed against me. Who would have thought the day would ever come when Lance and I showered together? It would have been funny under any other circumstances, the picture of two grown men in a bathtub, hot water pouring down on them, one fully clothed down to his shoes and the other completely naked. I don't think Lance was even aware any longer that he was undressed, and I only noticed in the blandest, most neutral fashion, not attracted to him at all. 

"Lance," I began, as he seemed to be settling down, or maybe just crying himself out. "Do you think we could shut off the water now?" 

He clutched me almost painfully tight. 

"No, please don't," he squeaked, fresh tears springing up. "I feel so dirty, so dirty." 

"Lance," I began. I wasn't sure what I was going to follow it with, but he cut me off before I could continue, anyway. 

"I let him do things to me, Jack!" Lance screamed against me. "I let him do that, and I liked it! I wanted him to do it." 

"It's not your fault, Lance, " I said. "It's not your fault." 

"But I feel so dirty," he repeated. "I feel it all the time, on my skin, inside me, I feel like I'll never be clean. I liked it, Jack. I liked it." 

"It's not always going to feel dirty, Lance," I said carefully. "Someday you're going to find someone who loves you, a boy or a girl, and it's not going to feel dirty. It's going to feel beautiful, and that's how you'll know they love you, because you won't feel bad at all. You'll feel whole." 

"Is that how it is for you and JC?" he asked, staring up at me. He was so hurt, but wanted so much to hope. 

"Yes," I answered. "Josh is like the part of me I never knew I was missing. He smiles, and it's like that smile is just for me, and I want so much to return that feeling, to return it and be worthy of it. I love him, Lance, and it doesn't matter what everyone else thinks. It only matters what we think, and how we feel. And someday it's going to feel like that for you, too." 

"I feel so confused," Lance sighed against my chest. "I don't know what to think. I don't know how I feel, or how I should feel." 

"That's ok, Lance," I said, wishing I'd thought to pull my wallet out of my back pocket when I saved my phone. 

"I feel like I don't even know who I am," Lance said quietly. "Jack, what are we going to do?" 

"I think we need to get you someone to help with all this," I said. "I think we need to find you a person, and a place, who can help you get some rest, and sort some of this out. What do you think?" 

He was quiet for a minute as I hoped that he'd make the right choice. 

"I think you might be right, " Lance said finally. 

"Tell you what, Lance," I began, standing. He stood with me. "Why don't you finish your shower, and then get dressed, and while you do that I'm going to make some calls. Is that ok?" 

"I don't think I can do this alone, Jack," Lance said, still holding on to me with both hands. "I'm scared." 

"You're not alone, Lance," I said, hugging him tightly again. "I'll be right there in your living room, and I'll stay with you every step of the way. You're never alone, Lance, never. I'm your friend, and I'll be here." 

"OK," he said. "I'll be out in a little bit." 

"OK," I said, stepping out of the bathroom. I pulled the curtain closed, although with the bathroom pretty much flooded it was kind of like closing the barn door after all the horses had run off. 

"Jack?" Lance asked from the other side. "Can you, can you leave the bathroom door open?" 

"Sure, Lance," I said. "No problem." 

Leaving it open actually made me feel better, too, because I could watch the medicine cabinet, and make sure he didn't have a change of heart and go for the razor or a bottle of pills. 

Scanning through the numbers in my cell phone, I found the one for the doctor who had come to look at Josh after the car wreck. He had been reliable and discreet before, and Lance trusted him, so I figured I could call him to get a recommendation for a good psychiatrist who might also be willing to take a case on extremely short notice. I called and explained what I needed to him, stressing as well that I would prefer someone who had a background and experience in sexual identity issues. After a few minutes on hold, he got back to me with a name and number, and I hastily scrawled them on a magazine. Thanking him, I wrote a note to send him a check for making the referral, thinking of Josh's "tip everybody" philosophy. 

I called the psychiatrist while Lance finished up his shower, combed his hair quickly, and then went into his bedroom to get dressed. I outlined the basics of Lance's situation, not giving his name yet, because I didn't want him to know who Lance was until Lance fell within the guidelines of doctor/patient confidentiality. By the time Lance finished dressing and joined me in the living room I had the psychiatrist on standby at his private clinic, waiting for us to arrive. I led Lance over to the couch and sat down, holding his hand. He looked kind of dazed. 

"Lance, are you ok?" I asked. 

"I don't know," he answered, staring at me. "What's going to happen to me? We're going to walk out the door, and when we come back, I won't be who I was any more. I'm scared, Jack. I'm really scared." 

"I know, Lance," I said, squeezing his hand. "But you're not alone. I called the doctor that you got for Josh, and he recommended this other doctor. If you still want to, I think we should go out there now. I think he can help you with this, Lance." 

"OK," he said. "Are we going now?" 

"I want to go get changed into some dry clothes first," I said, standing. "Then I'll drive you out, although I'll have to use your car, and you'll have to help me find this place." 

"OK," he said again, handing me his keys. 

Lance followed me to Josh's apartment, and waited in the living room while I stripped out of my wet clothes, dried myself off, and got dressed again. He was sitting in exactly the same position when I walked out of the bedroom as when I had gone in, and I wanted to slap Justin all over again. I was also struck by the contrast between the state of Lance's apartment, and the way ours looked, and wondered if I should call in a maid service. That was a security risk, though, so we'd probably be better off if I just cleaned it later. After all, I had his keys. 

Lance navigated me through the city, and then up into the hills and canyons, and we finally pulled to a stop at a building that looked more like a mansion than a clinic. The address was correct, but there wasn't even a sign out front. I parked the car in the circular drive, and Lance followed me up to the front door. I knocked, and a young woman with small, round glasses answered the door. 

"Hi," I began. "I'm not sure if I'm in the right place or not. I'm looking for a Dr. Centano?" 

"Oh, yes, you're in the right place," she answered perkily. "Please come in, and I'll let him know you're here. Are you Jack?" 

"Yes," I answered, relieved. 

We followed her inside, stepping into a marble tiled foyer with large windows, a gleaming chandelier, and a sprawling central staircase. Looking around as we waited for her to reappear, I realized that the building was a former Hollywood dream palace, one of those houses built by some long gone and probably forgotten movie icon, some actor or actress who made it big, at least for a while, and left behind the home of their dreams tucked away in the Hollywood hills. My musings were interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the hallway, and I turned to see an older man with half glasses and gleaming white hair walking toward us, smiling. 

"Mr. Springer?" he asked, looking back and forth between us. 

"Please call me Jack," I said, extending my hand. He was perfect. Warm, friendly, and as innocuous as Santa Claus. 

"And you are?" he asked, turning toward Lance. 

"I'm Lance," he answered quietly, not extending his hand. His shoulders were slumped, and he was clasping his hands together. 

"Lance?" I asked, putting my hand on his shoulder. "You ok?" 

"Yes, I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I just, I mean, I'm sorry." 

"Nothing to be sorry for," I said. 

"Lance, my name is Charles Centano," the doctor said. "You can call me Dr. Centano, or Charles is fine, if you prefer." 

Lance looked at him, swallowing. 

"Are you going to help me?" Lance asked quietly, staring. 

"No," Dr. Centano answered, and my head jerked toward him. "You're going to help yourself. I'm just here to guide you along the path. Why don't we go somewhere a little more private to talk, ok?" 

Dr. Centano led us down a long hallway, past many closed doors, and finally ushered us into a comfortable little office. There was a large desk pressed against one wall, the top filled with the comforting clutter of someone working, and there were several leather chairs in a group around a small round table in the center of the room. Lance sat in one, so I sat next to him, and Dr. Centano took a chair on the other side of him. 

"Lance, before we get started, I just want to tell you that everything that you say in this room stays in this room, unless you choose to take it out," he began. "Everything you say to me stays with me. Now, Jack gave me a little bit of background on the phone, but do you want to tell me why you're here?" 

Lance swallowed again, and looked at his hands. 

"Jack?" he asked. 

"Yes, Lance?" I answered, scared that he was going to decide that he couldn't do this after all. 

"Do you, um, maybe could you, " Lance stammered, trying to find the right words. "Would you be mad if I asked you to leave? Could you wait for me somewhere? I just, I don't want you to hear this." 

"Lance, how could I be mad at that?" I asked. "I want you to do whatever makes you comfortable. Of course I'll wait for you somewhere." 

Lance jumped out of his chair as I stood, wrapping me in a hug. 

"Thank you," he whispered into my ear. "Thank you, Jack." 

"You're welcome, Lance," I said, pulling him back. I lifted his chin with my finger, so that I could look into his eyes. "I'll wait for you right outside somewhere, Lance. I want you to know that I think you're being very brave, and very strong, and that I'm proud to be your friend." 

"Thank you," he repeated, looking away. I saw his eyes filling up with tears, and decided to beat a hasty retreat before he broke down again. 

"I'll have Colette show you somewhere comfortable," Dr. Centano said, pressing a button on his desk. 

"Thanks," I said, giving Lance a thumbs-up as I stepped into the hallway. 

Colette showed me a nice library, with more padded leather furniture, and an outdoor garden. Having been inside all day, I opted for the garden, finding the birds and flowers soothing as the sky began to darken. I was sitting on a painted iron bench, waiting for it to be dark enough for me to try to spot the stars, when my phone rang. I checked the number, and saw that it was Josh. 

"Hi babe," I said, smiling. 

"Hi!" he breathed. I could hear his voice jumping with excitement. 

"You sound happy," I observed. "How's the visit with your parents and Tyler going?" 

"Jack, I told them, and they don't care!" he gushed. "They're completely ok with it!" 

"I thought Heather said to tell your mom first?" I asked. I was sure that was the plan the two of them had agreed on. 

"I thought about it, but I didn't want to wait, or play games," Josh said. "Jack, they don't care! It doesn't bother them at all!" 

"I'm so happy for you, Josh, " I said, and I meant it. 

Josh needed his family, so I was glad they turned out to be totally supportive of him. He told me the whole story about flying in, going to eat with them, and then telling the three of them immediately, without any preamble. He told me excitedly how they didn't care who he was with, as long as he was happy, and how the four of them had a long discussion about what this meant for him, and how he had arrived at this. 

"I haven't told you the best part, either!" Josh continued. "They want to meet you, right away!" 

"Oh, wow," I said. I had never been brought home to meet a boy's parents before, oddly enough. "Josh, what did you tell them about me?" 

"I told them that you're the man I've waited my whole life to love," he answered. "And that's all they needed to hear. When can you fly out? I'll have a ticket brought over." 

"Day after tomorrow?" I asked. "I have some stuff here I need to wrap up before I can come out." 

"You sound down," Josh said. "Are you ok?" 

"More or less," I answered. "I really, really miss you, and there's some stuff going on that I need to talk to you about, some important stuff, but I don't want to get into it over the phone." 

"Are you sure you're ok?" he asked again. "I can grab the next plane and come back if you need me." 

"No, Josh, please, stay and enjoy your time with your family," I said, shaking my head as if he could see me doing it through the telephone. "God knows you don't get to see them enough. Let me just take care of this stuff, and then I'll be right out to see you, and we can talk then, ok?" 

"OK," he answered. "I miss you, too, you know." 

"Glad to hear it," I said. Looking up, I saw Lance and Dr. Centano entering the garden, and realized I had been on the telephone for over an hour. "Josh, I have to go. Call me tomorrow night?" 

"Sure," he answered. "I love you, Jack." 

"I love you, too," I said. I hung up and stood as Lance and Dr. Centano approached. I could tell by Lance's face that he had been crying again, but he looked better somehow, too. "How's it going?" 

"It's better, Jack," Lance said, looking down. "Thank you." 

"You're welcome," I said. "What are we doing now?" 

"Well, we have the facilities here to house a small number of our clients, and Lance has expressed an interest in staying for a few days," Dr. Centano answered. 

"Do you think you could, um, go to my apartment and bring me some stuff?" Lance asked, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. "I could make you a list." 

"Of course I can, Lance," I said, smiling. "I'll have to take your car, though." 

"That's ok," he said, shrugging. "I'm not using it. I'll call Chris and Joey tomorrow and tell them I'll be away for a couple days." 

"OK," I said. "Why don't we go make that list?" 

After Lance gave me the list of what he wanted, I drove back to the apartment building. Discovering a full set of luggage in his guestroom, I packed him up everything that was on his list, and a couple of extra things that I thought he might also want, like running shoes, and his Bible. I wasn't sure if he'd want this or not, since he had thrown it across the room hard enough to dent the wall, but I thought maybe he would want it at some point. Pulling the suitcase along, I shut off all of his lights, and pulled open the door. 

Justin was standing right outside, and he stepped back in surprise when he saw me. 

"Jack," he asked, eyes darting down to the suitcase. "What are you doing?" 


CHAPTER 33


I stared at Justin, Lance's suitcase in one of my hands and his keys in the other. Acting as if I stepped out of Lance's apartment every day, I casually shut the door and locked it behind me, and began walking toward the parking lot. 

"I asked you a question," Justin said behind me, sounding annoyed. 

"I guess I didn't catch it," I tossed back over my shoulder, not turning around. I'd stood up to Justin once, and I could do it again. 

"I asked what you're doing in Lance's apartment," he repeated, following me. 

"What business is it of yours?" I asked, opening Lance's trunk to put the suitcase in. Justin stepped right up next to me, leaning in, and his scent, the smell of his cologne and the musky smell of his own body, filled my nostrils. "Back up, Justin." 

"Why?" he asked, smiling, scratching his belly, making his shirt ride up a little so I could see his abs and the trail of dark blond hair below his navel. "Does being this close to me bother you?" 

"Not the way you think," I answered, slamming the trunk closed. I walked around to the driver's door, again forcing him to follow me. This was not going to be Justin's show, not again, not ever. 

"Don't pretend you don't want it," Justin purred, staring at me, hands on his hips. 

I stared at him, wondering what I ever could have possibly seen there. 

"Sorry Justin," I said, shrugging. "Been there, done that. Notice, however, that I'm still with Josh, and not chasing after you." 

I watched his jaw working soundlessly as I opened the car door and climbed inside. Apparently finally thinking of a witty comeback, Justin ran up to my door and knocked on the window. I powered it down a crack. 

"Yes?" I asked. 

"Does Josh know you're doing this?" Justin asked. "He won't be happy when he finds out you're helping Lance." 

"You know what, Justin?" I asked, staring levelly at him, glaring into his big blue eyes. "You're right, he won't be happy, but he'll get over it pretty quickly, I'm thinking, because he'll be a lot more unhappy when he finds out why I'm helping Lance." 

"You wouldn't tell him," Justin said, swallowing. I could see right through his false bravado. 

"Yeah, I would," I said, smiling. "I'll tell him, or Lance will. You know what, Justin? Maybe you should tell him, and see if you can salvage your friendship with Josh while there's still some left, if you even know what a friend is. Oh, and you might want to watch your toes." 

He looked down, jumping back as I threw the car in reverse. Thumbing the gate switch, I sped out of the parking lot, watching him stare after me in the glow of the taillights before the night swallowed him. 

"Take that, Justin," I smiled, cranking up the stereo. It felt good. 

I found my way back to the clinic, if that's what it was called, without trouble, and Lance was waiting for me in the foyer. When I gave him his suitcase, he hugged me again. 

"Thank you, Jack," he whispered. "Thank you for everything." 

"Are you ok up here, Lance?" I asked. "Are you all right by yourself?" 

"I think so," he said, looking around. I didn't see any staff, but I was sure someone was monitoring Lance from somewhere. "I feel safe here." 

"OK," I said, handing him a paper. "This my cell phone, and Josh's. I'm going to fly out the day after tomorrow to see him, but I want you to call if you need us, ok?" 

"OK," he said, folding it carefully and tucking it into his pocket. 

"And Lance, call even if you don't need us," I said. "Call if you just need to talk, or if you just want to say hi, or whatever." 

"Thanks, Jack," he said, his eyes glistening again. "I, um, I'm going to go get settled in, ok?" 

"OK, Lance," I said, watching him walk up the stairs. 

I drove back to the apartment, and went right to bed. My sleep was blissfully free of dreams, which I took to be a good omen. All I had left to do, before I went to Josh, was to go find that address out on Wilshire, and settle things with my stalker. Two days ago I had been frightened by the thought of someone watching me, and was terrified of actually going to meet them, but now, after this, I felt like I could kick any ass that got in my way. Watch out, stalker. I've already taken down Justin Timberlake. You'll be a walk in the park. 

When I got up, I went for my run, again without Chris. I was starting to miss him, and decided that once I got back from visiting Josh I needed to come back and patch things up with Chris. I didn't have to tell him what I had been keeping secret, because it should be enough just to let him know that I'd kept my promise, and told Josh. When I finished, I came back, took a shower, and checked the clock. I still had a little time before I needed to go, so I went to Lance's, and worked on cleaning up his apartment. When he came back, I didn't want him to walk into a place that looked like this. After a couple of hours, I had it more or less under control, although I figured the dent in his wall would probably rule out any chance of getting his security deposit back. 

Checking the clock again, I called for a cab to come get me, and washed my face and hands. Waiting out by the gate for the taxi to come, I realized that my hands were shaking a little, and my heart was racing. I almost jumped into traffic when my cell phone rang. 

"Hello?' I answered. 

"Jack! Are you ok?" Carla asked. "You left like ten messages!" 

"Carla," I said, wheels turning in my head. "Where are you?" 

"I just got back to my apartment," she said. "I'm so, so sorry I didn't call you. Is everything ok?" 

"No, not really," I said, my eyes scanning the parking lot. The only car there was Lance's, and nobody was hiding behind it. "Where have you been?" 

"My mom had to have this emergency surgery, and I went to stay with her," Carla said. "I left a message at your apartment." 

I hadn't checked my messages there, I realized. I figured the only people who needed to find me would think to call my cell phone, but Carla wasn't used to me having one, and probably hadn't been able to remember the number. That sounded plausible, but I was still wary. How big of a coincidence was it that Carla, one of my suspects, finally called me back now, while I was waiting for the taxi to come take me to the stalker. 

"I left you messages," I said, scanning the street. Nothing suspicious, but if it was her, she'd probably already be out on Wilshire, wherever it was I was meeting her. 

"I couldn't remember how to check my machine from my mom's house," Carla said. "Jack, you sound funny." 

"I think it's my phone," I said. "I think it's cutting out." 

I made one of those throat clearing, static noises, and then hung up. Proud of my quick thinking, I dialed her apartment, and was both surprised and relieved when she answered. 

"Jack, what the hell was that?" she asked. 

"Sorry," I said. "This phone is a piece of crap." 

"Yeah, sure," she said. "Jack, what the hell is going on?" 

As the cab pulled up, I gave the driver the address, and then I settled into the back seat, and explained the entire situation to Carla, who immediately went ballistic. 

"You're just going to meet this guy?" she blurted. "Do you even know where you're going? It could be a warehouse, or his house, or God knows what." 

"Carla, calm down," I said. "I'm not even getting out of the cab if it looks sketchy." 

"Does anyone even know where you're going?" she demanded. 

"Umm, I told you," I pointed out. 

"Because I happened to call you!" she yelled. "Jack, how could you be so fucking stupid? This could be anybody. It could be a psycho fan, or one of the guys like you thought. What the hell are you thinking, Jack? Are you even thinking at all?" 

"It can't just be a random fan, Carla," I pointed out. "It has to be someone I know. The first card came to my house." 

"And you think the people you know aren't crazy?" she asked. "Jack, do any of these notes sound like the kind of things that healthy, well adjusted people write?" 

"I can't just let it go, Carla," I said. "I can't sit and wait and see what shows up next. I have to know who it is." 

"Jesus, Jack," she sighed. "Promise me you're not going to do anything else stupid, or take any stupid risks. Promise me if anything seems off you'll call the cops immediately." 

"OK, I promise," I said, not pointing out that some people felt my promises weren't worth a lot. The cab pulled to a stop. "Carla, I have to go. I think we're here." 

"Be careful!" she yelled, as I hung up and tipped the cabby, climbing out of the taxi and stepping onto the sidewalk. 

We had stopped at a small diner. I checked the sign, and saw that this was the correct address. A diner was a fairly public place. Surely if he was planning to leave me for dead he'd do it in a park, or a back alley, and not in a diner. I walked inside, and saw a line of booths marching away from me on the left. Remembering the note, I realized that I was supposed to meet my mystery pen pal in the last booth, and I walked carefully toward it. As I approached, I saw that the seat facing me was empty, and realized that this was clever planning. I wouldn't be able to see his face until I was right up to the booth, because his back was to me. 

I slid into the booth, staring across the table at him as he stirred his coffee. I should have known. I should have known, and put it together, long before this. I should have guessed it when I got the first letter. Only one person hated me enough to do this, to fly all the way out to California and find me, to clip out every glimpse of me they saw in the papers, just to fuck with my head. 

"Jack," he said, smiling. 

"Peyton," I answered, staring at him. 

Peyton, the ex boyfriend I had described to Josh and Justin. Peyton, the guy who blamed me for ruining his life. Peyton, who I hadn't seen or spoken to in four years. They didn't appear to have been kind years, at least not for him. When I had started seeing Peyton, he was perfect, the most perfect man I'd ever seen. Peyton was on the baseball team, and was attractive in that way that all the really good baseball players seem to be, with a good face, a fantastic body, a big dick, and a tiny brain. He had a bulging chest that pushed out the front off all his shirts, and huge arms that stretched the sleeves. His neck had been thick, and his legs strong. I used to watch him work out, and drooled. 

He didn't look like that now. He sat across from me, staring at me with red-rimmed eyes, the bags under them glaringly prominent in the light of the restaurant. His neck, once so wide that I had problems fitting my hands around it, was thin, like a bird's, with a little flap of skin hanging beneath his chin. His face, once so model perfect as to rival Josh's, or any of the guys on the cover of Men's Health, was stretched tightly over the bones, his cheekbones, nose, and jutting chin now angular and frightening. His arms were thin, and his clothes hung on him, like a scarecrow. He clutched a cigarette between the bony fingers of his left hand, and his skin, once so tan and perfect, looked dry, and waxen. 

"Seen enough yet?" he asked. His grin was awful, like the rictus on a Halloween pumpkin. 

"Peyton, what happened to you?" I asked. It was like he had aged forty years since I had last seen him, the day of our college graduation. "Are you sick?" 

"Gee, Jack, you always did pride yourself on being smart," he said, taking a drag on his cigarette. "And really, after the number of times I've fucked you, you can call me Pete." 

The waitress appeared at our table. 

"Can I get you anything?" she asked. 

"Coffee, black," I answered. "Please." 

"Sure, no problem," she said, drifting away. 

I stared at Peyton, trying to put all this together. 

"Peyton, do you, um, is it HIV?" I asked quietly. I didn't have a lot of medical knowledge, but that was the first thing that came to mind. 

"No, I didn't catch that from you," he hissed, glaring at me. 

"You didn't catch anything from me," I said, leaning back, crossing my arms. "I was clean then, and I'm clean now. I don't have anything. As I recall, though, I got a nice case of crabs from you." 

He laughed, a rasping, smoke releasing laugh. 

"You still haven't shut up about those fucking crabs," he said, shaking his head. "Still whining about those like you whined about everything else. That's why I left you. Couldn't stand listening to you whine." 

"Oh, is that why?" I asked. "I thought it was that girl you were seeing on the side. Or that guy from upstairs that you were fucking. Or whoever else you were playing around with. I had no idea it was because I whined." 

"See, there's that whining again," he said, blowing smoke in my face. 

The waitress appeared with my coffee. 

"Do you want anything else?" she asked. 

"Not just yet," I answered. "But thank you." 

"You're welcome," she said, smiling at me as she hurried away from our table. I wondered if Peyton made her uncomfortable. She certainly seemed to be hurrying away from him. 

"Peyton, why are you here?" I asked, leaning forward, steepling my fingers on the table. "Why are you doing this?" 

"Goodness, you've become even pushier," he said. "Cut right to the chase now. Don't you want to talk about old times, Jack? Reminisce about the past? Talk about the good old days, when I was beautiful and you were on your knees, begging for it?" 

"If you wanted to talk, you've had all this time," I said, sipping my coffee. "I wasn't aware we had anything left to talk about." 

"That's a surprise," he said. "You always wanted to talk before. You always had so much to say, every time I tried to leave, every time you begged me in tears not to go. You always wanted to talk about how much you loved me, and how you'd do anything if I'd just stay." 

I glared at him. It was a slanted version of the past, true, but the underlying feeling was true. I had been completely absorbed in him, and had let him walk all over me. 

"We all make mistakes," I said coolly. "There's no point in dwelling on them." 

"Yes, like the mistake I made when I met you," he said. "You ruined my life, Jack. You ruined everything for me, and now I'm here to ruin you." 

"I didn't ruin anything for you," I spat. "You did that all yourself." 

"No, it was you," he said. "I've had a lot of time to think about things, a lot of time, Jack, laying in hospitals, getting stabbed with needles, a lot of time to look at where I went wrong. Everything that's ever happened to me is your fault. You poisoned me, like you poison everything." 

"Peyton, this is insane," I said. 

"No, it's not," he answered. "You were there. You know what happened to me. You cost me Janet, after we dated all through high school. I was gonna marry her." 

"I cost you Janet?" I asked. "You broke up with her." 

He continued as if he hadn't heard me. 

"You took baseball away from me," he said. "I had to quit the team because of you. None of my friends would talk to me. The guys wouldn't be in the locker room with me, coach wouldn't put me in the games. Baseball was my whole life, and you took it. You ruined it." 

"You quit the team," I said. I was tired of this discussion. We'd played this game, danced these same steps, over and over. 

"Because of you," he said, grinding out his cigarette and immediately producing another. "And my family, they disowned me. They still don't talk to me, do you know that?" 

"I don't know anything," I answered. "I don't talk to you. I wanted to, but you're the one who left me, and who let me graduate and leave without even stopping to say goodbye. You did that to me, after all the times you told me that you loved me." 

"I called my mother, Jack, my mother, to tell her I was dying, and she told me she had no son," Peyton hissed through gritted teeth. "She hung up on me, and wouldn't even talk to me." 

"You're dying?" I asked. 

"Like you care about anyone but yourself," he snapped. "Yes, Jack, I'm dying. I have cancer, Jack, the kind you don't get better from. I'm dying, Jack, but not before I settle things with you." 

My mind reeled. He was dying, and all he had to think about was getting back at me? 

"Peyton, how can you hate me this much?" I asked. 

"Because this is all your fault," he answered with conviction. "Hate is all I have left." 

"Then you don't have anything," I said sadly. 

He laughed, that dry, rasping cackle again. 

"That's not true," he said, smiling gruesomely again. "I have you. I have you right where I want you, and I'm going to fuck you over. You're happy, aren't you? I can see it. You have that dumb look on your face, in your eyes, and I'm going to crush it." 

"You're sick," I said, shaking my head. 

"Really? I hadn't noticed." 

It was wittier than I would have given him credit for. 

"I was in the hospital, Jack, waiting," he said. "You know what it's like to spend the last of your life sitting in waiting rooms? Sitting on uncomfortable couches, watching people stare at you, while you wait for a doctor to come out and tell you how many weeks you don't have left? Do you?" 

"No," I answered. "No, I don't. Peyton, I'm sorry you're sick, but." 

"Shut up," he said, cutting me off. 

I stared at him. 

"I was waiting, and I picked up the paper, and I saw you," he said, sneering. "I saw you in Variety, Jack, you!" 

"I didn't ask to be in the paper," I said stupidly. 

"You're doing it again, aren't you?" he asked. "Taking over some guy, making him like you. You're going to ruin someone else, but this time you're doing it right where everyone can see. Which one is yours, Jack?" 

"That's none of your business," I answered. "What do you want, Peyton? Is it money?" 

"Which one are you fucking?" Peyton growled. "You can tell me. We're old friends." 

"I'm not telling you shit," I said. "I can't believe I was afraid of this, afraid of you. All this time, and this is still all you have. I'm sorry you're dying, but you're still blaming me for your mistakes, and trying to make me believe it. Just tell me what the fuck you want, so we can finish this. Is it money?" 

"No, I don't want your boyfriend's money, whichever one he is," Peyton sneered. "Where would I spend it?" 

"How did you know where I was staying?" I asked. 

"Followed you home from the studio, when you and the little blond kid picked up the last letter," Peyton answered. "Sat in the parking lot for two days waiting for you." 

I stared at him again, trying to see any scrap left of the person I had believed he was. 

"Peyton, what do you want?" 

"All I want is to hurt you." 

"Then I'd say we're finished, " I said, standing. "I don't think you can hurt me, Peyton. Cut up all the newspapers you want, take all the pictures. I'm not opening any more mail from you." 

"Don't walk away just yet," Peyton said, grabbing my arm with one of his clawlike hands. I wanted to pull away, but was absurdly sure that his whole arm would break off. "I've made friends, Jack, powerful friends. Friends who are willing to help me get even with you." 

"Get even with me?" I blurted. "What is this, the seventh grade? Who are these powerful friends of yours, Peyton, hmmm? Who are they?" 

There was movement in the booth behind Peyton, the movement of people standing. I glanced at them, and dropped back into my seat in shock, unable to speak. Joey slid into the seat next to me, and Chris sat down next to Peyton, sliding in, forcing him to move over. 

"Guys?" I asked, looking at them. They were both looking at Peyton, and I realized that maybe this wasn't what I thought. 

"We'd kind of like to meet your friends, too, Peyton," Joey said, glaring at him. Joey could look pretty sinister if he wasn't smiling. 

"Yeah, because Jack has friends," Chris said. 

"He's our friend," Joey added. 

"A friend of the band," Chris continued. 

"And we don't like it when people threaten our friends," Joey said. 

"Or hurt them," Chris added. 

"Or try to hurt them," Joey said. 

"We don't like it at all," Chris said. 

"It makes us want to call our other friends," Joey said. 

"Other friends of the band," Chris clarified. 

"Friends who aren't so friendly," Joey said, Mafioso style. 

"You get what we're saying?" Chris asked. 

My head bounced back and forth between them as if I was watching a really good tennis match. It was like watching Chip and Dale verbally assault someone, and I wondered if they rehearsed it. Never mind that, actually, I wondered what the hell they were doing here. How had they known? I wanted to ask, but not in front of Peyton. Let him think I brought a posse, even if my posse was two-fifths of a boy band. I had friends, damn it. 

"Are you threatening me?" Peyton asked, staring at them. 

"I didn't threaten you," Chris said. 

"Me either," Joey said. 

"I didn't hear any threats," Chris chirped. 

"Did you hear a threat, Peyton?" Joey asked. 

"You don't scare me," Peyton answered. "You can't push me around. I don't care who you are. I have friends who want to help me." 

I wondered if it was morally wrong to bully the terminally ill. Then again, if the terminally ill were bullying you, did that make it ok? 

"So I heard," Chris said, smiling. 

"You sure you have a friend?" Joey asked. 

"I don't see him," Chris said. 

"I'm right here," someone said from behind us, pulling a chair over alongside our booth. His face was familiar, but I couldn't place it. "Basil Morgan, reporter." 

"And sleazy gossip columnist, " I added. 


CHAPTER 34


Saying this is going to make me sound really stupid, but I didn't recognize Basil Morgan right away, even though I had seen his picture in his byline countless times, because I was used to seeing his head in black and white. He sat before us in florid jowled color, and I wondered how old the picture in the papers was, since he was about forty pounds lighter in it. 

"Well, well, isn't this an interesting little grouping of people," Basil said, as the four of us stared at him. 

Joey's face was impassive, the same neutral almost scowl he always wore unless he deliberately made an effort to smile. Chris stared at Basil through narrowed eyes, a sneer of disdain creeping across his features. I tried to keep my own face neutral as well, but didn't know how good a job I was doing, since I strongly disliked Basil Morgan. Peyton grinned at him beatifically, or at least as beatifically as a human skeleton could. I should have known that Peyton would come all the way to Los Angeles and manage to make friends with the one person I had never wanted to meet. 

The waitress walked over. 

"Hon, you can't keep your chair in the aisle," she began. Basil handed her a hundred dollar bill, not even being subtle about it. 

"Wander off," he said, waving her away. 

She took the money and left, without even refilling my coffee. 

"As I was saying," Basil continued, picking up right where he left off. "We have Jack Springer, gay librarian and rumored boyfriend of JC Chasez. Jack is joined by not one, but two members of the band, Chris Kirkpatrick and Joey Fatone, two of Nsync's three backup singers. And what are the three of them doing? Threatening and intimidating a terminally ill cancer patient. Very nice." 

His words were all designed to wound, but I was determined not to let them find a target. He had nothing on me and Josh, or he would have printed it by now. I felt Joey bristle next to me at being referred to as a "backup singer", and hoped he and Chris wouldn't lose their tempers. No matter how many times the media put Justin in the middle of every picture, the guys considered themselves equal members of the group. 

"Nobody has threatened anyone," I said. 

"Yet," Joey added menacingly. 

Chris shot him a look. 

"We have nothing to say to you, Mr. Morgan," Chris said carefully. 

"Are you sure?" he asked. "What exactly is Mr. Springer's relationship to the group, Chris?" 

"We're not answering questions of a personal nature," Chris said evenly. "And we're not speaking to the press today. Your questions can be directed to our publicity staff, whose number I'm sure you already have." 

Basil smiled at him, revealing a mouth full of yellowish teeth. 

"Why don't we drop the official line, huh?" Basil asked. "I have you guys. I know all about Jack, and I have my new friend Peyton here to give me all sorts of background." 

"You have nothing," I said, before Chris could speak. "Nobody's going to read anything you have to say about me. I'm nobody. Even if they wanted to, good luck trying to avoid a lawsuit with his version of the facts. If you had anything else, you would have already run it in that shitty little column of yours." 

"Even if I don't know for sure which one of these guys you're with," Basil began, leaning toward me. "I can still run enough stories about the band's new friend to generate a lot of talk. If you sue, it's just going to add more fuel to the fire, and attract even more attention." 

"You're bluffing," I said, wanting to lean forward as well, but afraid of his breath. 

"Are you sure?" he asked. 

"I'm sure," Chris answered. "What exactly is it that you and Peyton want?" 

"What do you think?" Basil asked. "I want the story. I want an exclusive interview with Jack and JC, and Peyton wants the story broken." 

"Why?" I asked, turning to Peyton. "What do you get out of that?" 

"When this story breaks, it'll ruin JC, and the rest of the band," Peyton said, smiling. "And it'll all be because he met you, and he'll blame you. You'll destroy Nsync, Jack. You'll be Yoko Ono for twelve year olds." 

I stared at him, wondering if the cancer had spread to his brain. He couldn't possibly really believe that Josh coming out would destroy the band. Some of the fans would be pissed, yes, but the gay rights groups would flock to him. It would destroy the fantasies of the millions of girls who wanted to be Mrs. Joshua Scott Chasez, but they'd still have the other four guys to dream about. Well, maybe three, depending on how things worked out for Lance, but that was beside the point. As fast as I realized that Peyton really did believe this, lost as he was in his bitterness, I also realized that Basil was just using him. Basil didn't want to break some gossipy "Days of Our Lives" parade of all the boys some no name librarian had ever dated. He wanted to be the reporter who outed a member of Nsync. He was a gossip columnist now, but that story, especially if it was an exclusive with Josh and I, would propel him into the spotlight. It would make his career, regardless of whether it suited Peyton's goals. 

"How the hell did you two meet, anyway?" I asked, turning back to Basil. I wanted to deal with the sane half of the pair. "Did you have anything to do with his notes? Because that's harassment." 

"Mr. Rush contacted me," Basil said. "He read the column where I asked who you were, and called to offer his information. That's quite a story he tells." 

"His side of it, yes," I said. 

"Jack's right about the notes," Joey said. 

"Basil didn't have anything to do with those," Peyton said proudly. "That was all me. What are you going to do? Arrest me? Go nuts. Rock stars throwing an end-stage patient in the slammer will be a great story, and my friend here will make sure it ends up on the front page." 

Basil chuckled, but I wasn't sure if he was chuckling with Peyton or chuckling at him. 

"So, what's it going to be, guys?" Basil asked. "Do I drag Jack here through the mud, or do I get to talk to him and JC?" 

"What makes you think he's even dating JC?" Joey asked. 

"Or dating any of us?" Chris added. 

"He could be dating all of us," Joey said. 

"Yeah, maybe we just pass him around," Chris said. 

I cut them off before they could fall back into their Hekyl and Jekyl routine. God knows we didn't want that quoted in the paper. 

"Mr. Morgan, whether or not there is any truth to the rumors you're trying to pass off as a story, we can't answer right now, either way," I said. "A decision like this involves the entire band, and isn't to be made lightly in some diner over coffee. Could we have some time to think about it?" 

He chewed this over for a minute. 

"I'll give you until the awards next week," he said. 

"That's acceptable," I said, pushing Joey to slide out of the booth. 

"Let's shake on it," Basil said, holding out his hand. 

I stared at it distastefully. 

"I'd rather not," I said. "It's kind of slimy here, and not very healthy, either. I think my friends and I are going to leave now. I feel like a shower." 

His face turned about three shades of red, but he didn't move to stop us as the three of us stood. I threw some money on the table, and we walked out of the restaurant, Chris and Joey on either side of me. Once we got outside, Joey pointed out his car, and we all waited to speak until we were inside, with the doors closed and the windows up. 

"Are you sure that was a good idea?" Chris asked from the back seat. 

"Leaving? I think it was a great idea," Joey said. "And there isn't enough soap in the world to make me shake his hand." 

"Jack?" Chris prompted. 

"It bought us some time and got us out of the diner," I said, leaning against the side of the car. 

"That was kind of intense," Joey said. "We heard all of it, Jack. Are you ok?" 

"I think so," I said. "I got over Peyton a long time ago, but I can't believe he still hates me this much." 

"Maybe it's because he's so sick," Joey suggested. 

"Not to be rude, but what the hell are you guys doing here?" I asked. "How did you know where to find me?" 

Joey glanced at Chris in the rearview mirror. 

"We have a confession to make," Chris began. "We've been keeping a couple secrets, too." 

"When you stayed with me the other night, you had that card with you," Joey said. "While you were sleeping, I read it, and after that Chris and I went to do some checking." 

"Checking?" I asked. 

"I can't believe you didn't know," Joey said. "It was right in front of you on my to-do list. You left a note right next to it. Talk to Bruce and Stacy? Take Chris to Wilshire? None of this registered with you?" 

"Actually, no," I said, feeling stupid. "But how did you know what was going on? I didn't really tell Bruce and Stacy anything." 

"When you were gone the other night we snuck into your apartment and found the rest of the cards in your suitcase," Chris said. 

"You what?" I asked. "You went through my stuff? How did you even get in?" 

"We still had the spare key we borrowed from Jackie to deliver the Kinky Lovin' Kit," Joey said. 

I didn't know what to think, but I was mostly starting to feel pissed. Chris had lectured me about keeping secrets, and then had broken into my apartment and gone through my stuff? 

"Jack, I know what you're thinking," Chris began. "I know we argued about trust, but Joey and I were worried about you. We talked it over, and we decided it was worth the risk." 

"Oh, you decided?" I said. "But when I decided that, it wasn't good enough for you." 

"Jack, can we call a truce on that?" Chris asked. 

"Why?" I asked. "Why is it suddenly ok?" 

"Because of some other talks that Chris had today," Joey said, as Chris squirmed uncomfortably in the back seat. "I had a long talk with him about why you might be keeping secrets, and how they really might not be yours to tell." 

"We also talked to Lance this morning," Chris said quietly. 

"What?" I asked. 

"We talked to Lance," Chris repeated. "He called us both this morning." 

"What did he tell you?" I asked. 

"Not everything," Joey said. 

"But he did say he'd be away for a while, and that you were helping him with it," Chris said. "Jack, why didn't you come to us if Lance needed help?" 

"Because Lance didn't want me to," I said. It was almost true. Lance didn't want me to tell anyone after he found out I knew, so I could assume he didn't want me to all along. "It wasn't my secret to tell." 

"Jack, I'm sorry I pushed you on that," Chris said quietly. 

We rode in silence for a minute. 

"Apology accepted," I said quietly. 

"So, what do we do now?" Joey asked. "I mean, other than go home, get dinner, get drunk, and have some strippers over." 

I smiled. 

"I need to pack, guys," I said. "I'm going to fly out and see Josh tomorrow, and I need to pack, and get ready to meet his family." 

"They invited you out?" Chris asked. 

"That's great," Joey added, smiling. 

"I'm scared shitless," I confessed. "I've never gone home to meet a guy's family before. I'm terrified that I'm going to say the wrong thing, or embarrass him, or something." 

"You'll be fine," Chris said. "You're clean, you're friendly, and you dress well." 

"Yeah, as long as you don't introduce yourself as the boy who sodomizes their son, they should love you," Joey said seriously. I punched him in the arm as Chris fought not to giggle. 

"Jerk," I said, grinning. 

We pulled in back at the apartment building, and I left them to make dinner plans. I promised to go with them, wherever they decided, because I did want to see them again before I left, and then I spent the rest of the afternoon packing. I called Carla to let her know that I had successfully met up with my stalker, and I poured out the whole sordid story for her. 

"I didn't even know Peyton knew where you lived!" she said. 

"I know," I agreed. "It was creepy." 

I realized that, more than anything, I was sad for Peyton, not only sad that he was dying but also sad that he was devoting so much of his energy to hating me. Carla, ever the optimist, pointed out that maybe his hate was keeping him alive. While I was talking about Peyton, though, I realized that I was also thinking about Justin, and how I felt about him. I was still angry, hurt, and disappointed by the things he had done, but I was torn, because I also still felt like his friend. I was torn between forgiving him and writing him off, and I decided that I needed to talk to him, to try to settle things, before I left. Finishing up my packing, I answered the door buzzer, and went down to sign for my plane ticket to Chicago. 

On my way back up the stairs, I walked past my door, and knocked on Justin's. He opened the door and stared down at me, being a little taller. He looked very young in his ripped jeans and plain white undershirt, and he looked very alone. His eyebrows went up when he saw me, but he didn't speak. 

"Justin?" I began. "Can I talk to you?" 

He continued to stare at me, as if weighing his answer. 

"Please?" I asked. "I'm not going to beg, Justin, but I'd like to talk to you." 

"Fine," he said coldly, stepping aside. "Come on in." 

He walked away from me, not staying to press into my space, or even to make eye contact with me. Justin walked across the living room and sat in one of the chairs, folding his legs up under him. I'd never seen him sit like that, ever, in a way that didn't stretch any of his clothing across him or emphasize any part of his body. I wondered if the absence of game playing constituted yet another form of manipulation, and then wondered if I was giving Justin too much credit. I suddenly realized that change in him I'd noticed at the door. For once, he didn't seem to be radiating that sense of self- confidence and self-importance. It was like he didn't know how to relate to me at all. 

I sat across from him on the couch. 

"Justin, I didn't want to leave without trying to talk to you again," I began, watching him. He wasn't sneering, but he wasn't smiling. "What I said to you last night, for the most part, was pointless, mean-spirited, and kind of rude. I was pretty frustrated over some other stuff that's going on, and I'm still upset about the way you treated Lance. It's not the way I want things to settle between us." 

"Would you rather just slap me again?" he asked quietly. "Nobody's ever done that to me before." 

"Nobody's ever slapped you?" I asked. I found that hard to believe. 

"Not in anger," he said, shrugging. "Not someone I thought was my friend." 

We both stared at the floor for a minute. 

"Justin, I don't know how I feel about you," I said carefully. "I don't understand the things you do, or the way you treat people. I don't know what happened to you, or what made you like you are. I feel very confused about it, and that's kind of why I've been so hot and cold toward you the past couple days." 

Justin continued staring at me. I didn't know if my words were having any effect or not, but it felt good to get them out. 

"I'm confused because that's not always the way you are, and I don't know if it's the way you have to be," I continued. "Justin, I've seen you be a friend to me, and a friend to Josh. I've seen you listen to us, and be there for us, and I can't reconcile that with the person I saw the other day in Lance's room. I'm stuck, because I don't know if I was wrong about you, or if you're wrong about yourself." 

I stood. 

"I guess that's really all I wanted to say, Justin," I said, staring down at him. "I don't know if we're still friends. I don't know if I want to be your friend, or if I trust you enough to open up to you again, or if you even know what a friend is or should be." 

He still didn't say anything, and I started to walk away. 

"Jack?" Justin asked quietly, voice neutral. "When do you fly out?" 

"Joey and Chris are going to take me to the airport tomorrow morning," I answered. 

"Are you still going to tell Josh?" Justin asked, face blank. He didn't look imploring, or conniving, or any of the things I would have expected. "Tell him everything?" 

"Yes," I said simply. "I have to, Justin. Once you tell the first lie, the next one is that much easier, and that's not the kind of relationship I want to build with Josh. What we have is too important to me to play games with. I love Josh for who he is, and I want him to feel the same way about me. Goodbye, Justin." 

"Goodbye, Jack," he said, looking away. He hadn't moved from his chair. 

I stopped at the door. 

"Justin, they say that the truth sets people free," I said. "Maybe you should think about it." 

I closed the door, and then put in a call to Dr. Centano to check on the clinic's visitation policy. I wanted to stop and see Lance before I left, too, and I was surprised to discover that I was the only person on his approved visitor list. 

"That was Lance's choice," Dr. Centano explained. "He told me a little bit about your past history, and I thought you should know that he has a great deal of respect for you. Not to overinflate your ego, but I think right now if we asked Lance he'd say that you were his hero." 

"Me?" I asked, grabbing the car keys and walking down to the parking lot. "But I didn't do anything." 

"Quite the contrary, Jack," Dr. Centano continued. "The way that Lance tells it, you tried to help him. You sought him out, and tried to protect him, while he tried to push you away, and you did it all after he was profoundly hurtful to you and to your lover." 

"Boyfriend," I corrected absently. 

"Sorry," he said. "Lance's word. What I'm trying to say, Jack, is that you helped Lance, and I think you're the first person in a long time who has." 

"Well, he needed help," I said. "Anyone would have done it. I couldn't just leave him." 

"I don't think anyone would have stood up to a friend to protect someone they admittedly didn't even like, but I'm not going to argue this point with you," Dr. Centano said, and I could hear him smiling through the phone. "I think that a visit from you, especially if you're going away for a few days, would do Lance a lot of good." 

"I'm on my way out right now," I said, pulling into traffic. I put the phone on speaker, since driving out here was enough to give me a breakdown. On the plus side, I was on my way to a psychiatric facility, so there couldn't be a better time for one. "I know that you're not allowed to discuss the specifics of his case with me or anything, but how is Lance? How is he doing? Is he going to be ok?" 

"Actually, Lance has authorized me to share any information with you that you may request," he answered. "He said you wouldn't ask if you didn't need to know. Without going into too much detail, I think Lance is going to need a lot of help, for a long time. The immediate crisis has more or less passed, but he has a lot of identity and trust issues that he has been struggling with for many years. He's going to need a lot of support, as well, but I think he's well on his way, overall." 

"Thank you, Doctor," I said, sighing. "I'll be out there shortly." 

I called Chris next, to tell them I'd be out for a little while, but that I'd be back in time for dinner. Chris wanted to go out for Italian, but Joey wanted to stay in and order Thai, and the two of them were demanding that I cast the deciding vote. I opted for Italian, listening to Joey squeal and groan in the background. 

"Somewhere quiet!" I stipulated. "I don't want to see another reporter as long as I live, ok?" 

"Ditto," Chris said. "I'll call and get us some reservations." 

When I got to the clinic, Lance was waiting at the door, sitting outside on the step in the sunshine. He looked better, not a lot, but a little. He at least looked like he'd slept. He smiled when he saw me pull up in his car. 

"I didn't think you'd mind if I was using it to come visit you," I said, getting out. 

"I don't," he said, hugging me quickly. It was an awkward hug, as he didn't seem really sure of what he should do, or really comfortable with it, but he initiated it, so I tried to respond in kind, not wanting him to feel rejected. 

"So, how are you doing?" I asked, following him as we began to walk down a little pathway around the side of the house. 

"Better," he answered, smiling again. They were just tiny smiles, his lips barely curling, no teeth out, but I hadn't seen Lance smile at all on my trip out here, except for the cameras. "It's nice here. It's quiet, and I've met some nice people. Mostly all I've done since yesterday is just talk." 

"To Dr. Centano?" I asked. 

"Not just him," Lance said. "I went to group this morning. I didn't really talk to anyone, I mostly just listened, but they all seem like nice people." 

"Are you going to stay here for a while?" I asked. 

"I'm not sure yet," he answered. "I feel safe here. I don't want to go home yet." 

"I'm not telling you to," I said. "Do whatever you're most comfortable with." 

We talked for a while, mostly about nothing. Lance thanked me about ten times for bringing him here, until I asked him to please, please stop doing it. As the staff began walking around to quietly inform people that dinner was about to be served, I gave Lance a quick hug goodbye, and told him to call if he needed anything. I also told him that I was planning to tell Josh everything, and asked if he would mind. 

"Why are you going to tell him?" Lance asked. 

"I don't want there to be secrets between Josh and I," I answered. "I won't tell him if you don't want me to, but I think he should know about what Justin's done." 

Lance mulled it over for a minute. 

"OK," he said. "I understand that. When you get back, is Josh coming with you?" 

"Yes," I said. "We're flying back together." 

"Do you think he might want to see me?" Lance asked quietly. "I want to talk to him, if he does." 

"Of course he will, Lance," I said. "I know he will." 

We said goodbye after that, and I headed back to the apartment building. Chris and Joey were waiting for me, Joey making a last minute plea for Thai, but his please fell on deaf ears. The three of us had a quiet, relaxing dinner together, at a little tiny restaurant pretty far off any of the beaten paths I'd learned in the city. I asked if they had invited Justin, but Chris said Justin had opted out, wanting to spend some time alone. I hoped that was a positive sign that he was at least thinking about what I said. 

In the morning, Chris and I went on our run, together again. I felt as good about the company as I did from the exercise. Afterward we took quick showers, and then Joey insisted that he and Chris both take me to the airport. At the airport I hugged them both, and thanked them for everything, and for being my friends, and then I got on the plane. I read through most of the flight, and tried to sleep a little. It wasn't a long flight, for which I was thankful, and I was tingling with anticipation as we landed and taxied in. 

As the announcement came for us to leave the plane, a flight attendant appeared at my chair. Josh, of course, had put me in first class, so I had no idea if she was supposed to be there or not. 

"Mr. Springer? I'm to escort you to a separate part of the airport to meet your party," she said. 

I nodded, and followed her. We left through the same door as the other passengers, but veered off almost immediately into a maze of hallways. Following her down one after another of them, she finally showed me into a large, private lounge, where Josh was waiting. He turned toward me, rising up out of his seat, and smiled, his eyes sparkling as I ran over to him and wrapped my arms around him. 

"Hey," he whispered in my ear, holding me tightly. 

"Hi," I answered. 

Everything was going to be ok. 


CHAPTER 35


Josh's family didn't live right in Chicago, like I had thought. They lived outside, in a very nice suburb on the lake. Their house was large, but not too big, with a garage behind and a dock and boathouse out back. Josh explained that the only thing in the boathouse was a rowboat that had come with it, and that we could take it out, but probably shouldn't go too far, as no one knew if it was very seaworthy. I had thought Josh was from the Maryland area, and he explained that his parents had moved after the band started to get big, because they wanted some normalcy returned to their lives. 

"Girls used to show up at our house and rip grass out of the lawn," he said, smiling. "It was bad for Heather and Tyler, too." 

I nodded understandingly, although I really couldn't imagine what it might be like to wake up in the morning and find people camped out on your front lawn, or looking through your trash. Josh pulled the car around the house to the garage, and I suddenly realized I was not only scared, but unprepared for this. 

"We'll get your bags out later," Josh said, turning toward me. "Hey, you're pale. You ok?" 

"Josh, I can't go in," I said. "I didn't bring anything. It's rude." 

He laughed, and took my hand. 

"Guests bring gifts, Jack," he said, kissing me on the nose. "You're family." 

We climbed out of the car, and Josh immediately took my hand again. 

"Your hand is shaking," he said. "Are you sure you're ok?" 

"Josh, I've never done this, " I confessed. "What if they don't like me?" 

Josh pressed me against him, wrapping his strong arms around me. I could feel his chest, breathing against mine as we stood, cheek to cheek, in the garage. 

"Jack, they already like you, " he said, running his hands up and down my back. "They just need to put a face with the name." 

Still holding my hand, Josh led me out of the garage and up the sidewalk toward the back of the house. The sky was darkening toward twilight, but the lights inside the house glowed warmly. We walked into a back hallway, and I smelled a lot of food and heard a television running somewhere in the background. 

"We're home!" Josh yelled, leading me into the kitchen. 

As we entered from one side, Josh's family, mom, dad, and brother, entered from the other, and we stopped, staring uncertainly at each other. I felt a little better, realizing that no one else quite knew how this was supposed to go, either. Josh's mom beamed at us, while his dad smiled a little uncertainly, and his brother stared me up and down, as if appraising me. 

"Jack, this is my family," Josh said, not letting go of my hand. "This is my mom, Karen, my dad, Roy, and my brother, Tyler. Guys, this is Jack." 

"Hi," I said uncertainly as they all stared at me. Stressed, I blurted the first words that popped into my head. "I forgot to bring something." 

Josh burst out laughing, and suddenly everyone was moving at once. Karen rushed over to me and wrapped me up in a hug as Roy and Tyler followed behind her. Josh stepped out of the way and just smiled, taking it all in. I didn't think I'd ever seen him look so happy. 

"It's so nice to finally meet you," Karen said, squeezing me like she wanted to snap my ribs. She stepped back, arms on my shoulders, and looked me up and down, and then hugged me again. "Joshua has told us so much about you in the past couple of days! You have to tell us all about yourself." 

She stepped back, and Josh's dad grabbed my hand, shaking it vigorously. I tried to squeeze his back as hard as he squeezed mine, so he wouldn't think I was some sort of pansy. 

"I'm Josh's dad," he said, pumping my arm up and down. "Welcome to the family, Jack. You can call me Roy." 

"And you can call me Mom, if you want," Karen said, peering over his shoulder. "Or Karen, if you prefer." 

"OK," I muttered uncertainly. I didn't come from a very physically affectionate family, and Josh's had their hands all over me, it seemed. 

Tyler stepped up in front of me. I'd seen pictures of him in Josh's apartment, but didn't realize he was so big. He was about twenty, but was built on a much stockier scale than Josh was. Still, you could tell they were related. He eyed me up and down again, offering his hand. 

"So, you're Josh's boyfriend, " he said, shaking my hand. 

"Yeah," I answered, unsure of his tone. 

"That must be really awful for you," he said, smiling. "I'm so, so sorry for you." 

"Jerk!" Josh screeched, grabbing him in a headlock. The two of them wrestled across the kitchen as Josh screamed that he was going to give him "noogies" and rubbed furiously at Tyler's head. 

"Boys!" Karen said, jerking them both to a stop. She was smiling. "We have company! Tyler, come help me get dinner out. Jack, do you want to wash your face or freshen up? Joshua, show him where the bathroom is! He's been on a plane all day. I raised you to be a better host than that! And get him a drink, too." 

Roy wandered out of sight to shut the television off, rolling his eyes, as Josh pulled me down the hallway to a bathroom. As soon as we were inside, he shut the door, and I had time to take about one deep breath before I found his tongue in my mouth. I sighed against him, pulling his head close, oblivious to the sink digging into my back. Josh finally pulled back, and I stared into his glassy eyes. 

"I've been waiting to do that since the plane landed," he said. 

"I don't think we should do it in here, with your family right down the hall," I said. 

"Still scared, or do you feel better now?" he asked, smiling. 

"Oh, I'm still scared, but in a whole different way," I answered, smiling back. 

"Jerk," he said, kissing my forehead. 

"What are you gonna do about it?" I asked, kissing his neck. "Give me noogies?" 

"You wish," he laughed. 

We were interrupted by knocking on the bathroom door. I pulled it open, and Tyler grinned at us. 

"Mom says dinner is ready," he said, giggling. "Are you two making out in there?" 

"No!" Josh blurted as the two of us blushed bright red. 

"Kids," Tyler said, shaking his head as he walked away down the hall. 

Josh looked mortified, but I cracked up, still laughing as we joined his family at the table. Dinner was good, very laid back and friendly, and Karen and Roy made a point of explaining to me who anyone they happened to mention was. They asked a lot of questions about me, where I'd grown up, where I lived now, where I'd gone to school, and what my future plans were, among other things. They started grilling me on current events when Josh put a stop to it. 

"Mom, dad, is the inquisition over?" he asked, taking my hand. "Can we have dessert now?" 

"Josh, it's ok," I said quickly. "Really, I don't mind answering questions." 

"We just wanted to get to know you a little better," Roy said, shrugging. 

"Tyler, why don't you clear the table while I put some coffee on, and Joshua, you can unload the car and get Jack settled in upstairs," Karen suggested. 

"Can I help out with anything?" I asked, standing as they did. 

"No, of course not," Karen said, smiling. "Tonight you're still a guest." 

"Which means tomorrow she'll have you chopping firewood or scrubbing the bathroom," Josh said, taking my hand and leading me toward the back door. "We'll be back!" 

Karen had picked out the bedroom across the hall from Josh's to serve as my guestroom. As much as I wanted to share the bed with Josh, especially after being separated for so long, I also wanted to be respectful of his parents. I think Josh was worried that I might be offended, because he quickly explained that nobody got to share a bedroom with a significant other, but I quickly assured him that I didn't think his parents were silently disapproving by putting me across the hall. After we brought my bags in, we rejoined Josh's family in the dining room for coffee and pie, and then they all decided that we should play board games. We played several games of "Clue", all five of us, as I wondered how people could be so different. I had never played a board game with my family. With baby sitters, yes, but with my actual parents? No way. 

Eventually everyone started yawning and drifting upstairs to bed, and I followed, even though I wasn't tired. My body thought it was still several hours earlier, but I decided to just read in my room until I fell asleep. The boys hugged their parents goodnight before heading to their rooms, and Karen and Roy surprised me again by hugging me as well, telling me they'd see me in the morning. I went up and got changed, and nodded goodnight to Tyler as we passed in the hallway when I went to go brush my teeth. I had just settled into my bed in a t-shirt and boxers, sheet pulled up to my waist, and was opening my book when someone knocked on my door. 

"Come in," I said, and smiled when I saw it was Josh. 

"Hi there," he said, closing the door behind him. He sat down on the bed, on top of the covers, and leaned in to kiss me, quickly, softly, on the mouth. 

"You taste like toothpaste," I said, running my tongue catlike up the side of his face. 

"So do you," he said, leaning back against me. I loved having a man who liked to cuddle. "I just wanted to come in and tell you goodnight." 

"Is that all you wanted?" I asked, stroking his hair as he lay with his head against my chest. 

"While mom and dad are home, yes," he answered, grinning. "But once they leave the house, you're mine." 

"They go to work on Monday, right?" I asked. 

"Really early," Josh answered, his hand on my chest. 

"What about Tyler?" I asked. 

"We'll make him go outside and play," Josh answered wickedly. I laughed at the thought of his brother, a college student, being told to go outside and play. 

"Thank you for asking me to come out here, Josh," I said. 

"Thanks for coming out," he said. "I told you my parents would love you." 

"I know," I said, sighing. "They're great people, Josh. This is just so not like what I'm used to. I don't want them to think I'm being standoffish or something." 

"They won't," Josh said, staring up at me. "I told them about your family. It won't be like that here, I promise." 

"I love you, Josh," I said, and suddenly found myself with tears welling up in my eyes. 

Josh saw them, and flicked a hand up to my cheek, wiping one of them away. 

"Jack?" he asked, sitting up. He pulled me forward, wrapping his arms around me, and I laid my head on his shoulder as he smoothed his hands in circles over my back. "Jack, what's wrong? Please tell me." 

I didn't know what was wrong. I just suddenly felt like crying. 

"I don't know, Josh," I answered. "I guess I just, you know, I missed you a lot, and it's been a really bad week." 

"It's ok, Jack, I'm here now, " he said. "Everything will be ok. Do you want to talk about it?" 

"In the morning, Josh," I said, swiping at my eyes with my hand. "We can talk about it all tomorrow, when you're awake, and I've had a good night's sleep." 

"Ok," he said, snuggling back against me. 

We stayed like that for a while, until he began to nod off, and I sent him back across the hall to his bed, telling him I wasn't getting in trouble with mom and dad on my first night here. We kissed goodnight, twice, in the dark hallway. When I went back to my room, I checked my phone, which I had turned off for a while, and found voice messages from Carla, Joey, Chris, and Lance, all wishing me luck. I wanted to cry all over again, and wondered again what was wrong with me. The week must have hit me a lot harder than I thought. 

When I woke up the house was quiet. I took a quick shower and got dressed, and walked quietly downstairs. I had slept a lot later than I usually would have, and felt bad. What if they had a family breakfast or something, and I missed it? That wasn't a good way to make an impression. I walked quickly to the kitchen, not seeing anyone, but I smelled coffee. 

"There are cups in the cabinet to the left of the sink," Karen said from behind me. 

"Thanks," I said. I hadn't seen her sitting at the little side table, reading the paper. "Good morning." 

"Good morning, Jack," she said, watching me over the top of her page. "How did you sleep?" 

"Good, thank you," I said, pouring myself a cup of coffee. "It's quiet. Where is everyone?" 

"Tyler wanted to go shopping, and Roy went with him," she answered. "Josh is out back somewhere, with the dog. Jack, why don't you come sit with me for a minute?" 

"Sure," I said, joining her at the table. 

She lowered the paper, and smiled at me. 

"Jack, how do you feel about my son?" she asked. 

"I love him," I answered, not hesitating. 

"Good," she said, smiling. "I'm a mother, Jack, and while all mothers love their children and want them to be happy, I like to think that I love mine even more than most. I like you, Jack, which is good, but Josh loves you, and that's even better. Jack, Josh has told me about you two, and while I think he's left out a few parts that he probably thought his old mom didn't need to hear, I can read between the lines. I can also read the things behind the things he says, Jack. Josh loves you more than I've ever seen him love anyone, and now that I've seen you, and watched the way you look at him, I can see that it goes both ways." 

I didn't know what to say. 

"Jack, Joshua told me that you were worried about coming to meet us," she continued. "He also told me that he was pretty worried about coming to tell us, and that you supported him fully on whatever he decided. I just want you to know that Roy and I talked about this after Josh told us, and again last night, and you have our blessing. We've seen a few girls come in and out of Josh's life, and even though you're the first boy we figured the same rules still apply. You seem like a pretty level person, and you have your own life. Whatever you want from Josh, it isn't to use him to get yourself somewhere." 

"I, um, thank you," I said. "All I want is for Josh to be happy. I don't want anything from him except for what he wants to give me." 

"I was hoping you'd say something like that. And now, if you want to top off your coffee, you'll probably find my son out on the other side of the boathouse," she said, picking the paper up again. "And just in case you didn't notice, none of the neighbors can see you from there, so feel free to be yourselves." 

Did she just give us permission to make out behind the boathouse? I decided not to think about it as I filled my cup to the top and carried it carefully through the backyard. I heard the dog barking off behind the boathouse, and carefully walked around the side, praying I wouldn't slip and slide into the lake. God only knew how filthy the water was. Josh was sitting on a big, double bench swing on the other side, tossing a ball across the lawn. The dog, whose name I had missed, retrieved it, and Josh threw it again. 

"Morning," I said, walking up behind him. "Is there room on that bench for me?" 

"If there wasn't, you could sit on my lap," he answered as I slid down next to him. 

Josh put an arm around my shoulders, and handed me the ball with his other hand. I tossed it across the yard, and watched as the dog ran after it. 

"He's just going to want you to throw it again," Josh said. 

"That's ok," I said. "I like dogs." 

"We should get one," Josh said, tossing the tennis ball again. I looked away. "Jack?" 

"I'm sorry, Josh," I said, sipping my coffee. "This is just going to be really hard for me. I kept some stuff from you, and I did it because I thought I was protecting you, but I think I still should have told you all along." 

Josh sighed, and took my hand. 

"Jack, do you remember when I told you about dancing with those guys, and letting them kiss me?" he asked, turning my head toward his, so that I was staring right into his eyes. I nodded. "Do you remember what you said to me?" 

"That I didn't mind?" I asked. 

"No, before that, before I even told you," he said. "You told me that even if it was something you didn't want to hear, you needed to hear it anyway, because we needed to be honest with each other. I want to tell you the same thing, Jack, right now. Whatever it is you're about to say, just tell me. I'll stay here the whole time, and I won't scream at you, and I won't get mad, and we'll just get through it and past it, just like you did for me, ok?" 

"OK," I said, squeezing his hand. 

Having two enormous secrets to share, it was hard for me to choose between them, but in the end I decided to prioritize, and start with the one that most directly affected Josh and I, so I told him about Peyton's letters. I started at the beginning, with the one that had come to my apartment, and took him all the way up through the last one, and then the scene at the diner, and the part about Basil Morgan and his stupid exclusive story. I explained about how I had hid the letters from him, because at first I didn't think they were serious, and then later on how it never seemed like a good time to bring it up. I talked about how I thought I was protecting him, but how things had just gotten worse, and then I told him how I began to suspect everyone, and to lose sight of my objectivity. I explained about the fight with Chris, and my mini-breakdown with Joey, and how the two of them had snuck around behind my back to pull me through it. 

At some point during the story, I realized that I was crying again, not great, body-shaking sobs, but little trickles, and I couldn't seem to stop them. Through it all, Josh kept one arm around my shoulders, and kept holding onto my hand. He continued to push the swing gently back and forth with his foot. The dog, apparently giving up on fetch after the two of us forgot to keep throwing the ball, lay at our feet, the tennis ball between his two front paws. Each time the swing drifted closer to him, his tail would wag once, as if he was sure we were about to reach down and pick the ball up again. I smiled at his hopefulness. 

Abruptly the words just stopped flowing from my mouth, and I realized I'd reached the end of that half of my story. Josh stared at me, his face twisted, brow wrinkled, and he carefully wiped my tears away with his fingers again. 

"Josh, what are we going to do?" I asked. 

"About Basil Morgan?" he asked. 

I nodded. 

"That can wait," he said. "You went through all of that, all that worrying and being afraid, because you didn't want to upset me?" 

"Yes," I said, looking away. He squeezed my hand. "I thought it was nothing, and that since it was directed at me that I could handle it, and it wouldn't ever be a problem for you at all." 

"Jack, if it's a problem for you, then it's a problem for me," Josh said. "You don't ever have to protect me from anything, and you never, ever have to face something alone. I've told you before, Jack, you are my heart. That doesn't just count when we're having dinner, or watching TV, or making love. You and I are together, we're one. Even though we're not married, you're stuck with me, Jack, and that includes the bad times, too." 

"But I hid that from you," I said. "You're not mad?" 

"I'm not happy about it, no, but I'm not mad at you, exactly," Josh said, pulling me tighter against him. "I guess I've just spent so much time leaning on you that I never showed you that you can lean on me, too. I have to ask you something, though. I watched your face when you told me that story, Jack. Do you still love Peyton?" 

I thought about this for a minute, trying to put the words together. 

"I don't think I ever loved Peyton, not the real one," I said. "I loved the idea of Peyton, the boy I thought was there. Peyton was the first boy I ever really thought I loved, Josh, and it blinded me. When I was with him, I only saw what I wanted to see, and most of the time that was just what he wanted me to see. Even still, that's not the kind of thing that you ever really let go of, not completely." 

Josh sighed. 

"The other day, though, when I saw him, I realized something else, too," I continued. "The part of Peyton that I loved, the thing I thought I saw in him, died a long, long time ago. It may not have ever been there at all. I'm sorry he's in so much pain, and I'm sorry he's dying, but that's all I felt when I looked at him. That's all I saw. Just that I was sorry. Whatever I might have felt for him before is in the past, on the far side of a wall I can't climb over. I've moved on, even if he never has. And even when I was with him, Josh, even when I thought the whole world revolved around what he wanted and what made him happy, I never felt, not even for a minute, what I feel every second of every day that I'm with you." 

"You mean that?" he asked, kissing my forehead. 

"Josh, I loved a part of him, " I said. "But it was only a part. I am a part of you. I love all of you." 

We sat on the swing in silence again, leaning on each other. 

"What about the rest of it, Josh?" I asked. "Basil Morgan is going to out you. He knows about us, and at some point he's going to have more than rumor to back it up. What are we going to do about it?" 

"I don't know," Josh answered. "I need to think about that. I do know that we're never giving him that story. Never." 

"Nope," I agreed. 

"I'm sorry you had all of that happen, Jack," Josh began, but I cut him off. 

"That's not all, Josh, and you're really not going to want to hear the rest of this," I said, wishing I didn't have to tell him. It was bitterly ironic that I had lectured Justin about the truth setting people free, and now all I wanted to do was bury it. "Josh, Lance is in a hospital." 

"What?" he asked, eyes wide with concern. "Is he ok?" 

"He will be," I answered. "For now, he's out of the immediate crisis." 

"The immediate crisis?" Josh asked, confused. "Does he have some disease or something? How did he end up in the hospital?" 

"I took him," I answered. "I was afraid of what he might do to himself." 

"Do to himself? You mean like," Josh began, but his voice trailed off. I nodded gravely at him. "But why? Why would he do that? I know he was unhappy, but never like that. What happened? Why would he want to do that to himself?" 

I swallowed, wishing I hadn't finished my coffee during the last story. 

"Because of Justin," I said quietly. 

"What?" Josh blurted. 

"He almost did it because of Justin," I repeated. 

I told Josh the whole story, leaving nothing out, and watched his face twist as I described what I had seen, and how it had made me feel. I told him about my chats with Justin, and my observations of Justin's behavior. I had thought that I'd cried out all my tears during the last story, but somehow fresh ones came to my eyes when I talked about the talk I had on Lance's bathtub with him, and I looked over and realized that Josh was crying, too. I finally finished tell it, much quicker than I would have thought possible, and Josh turned to me. 

"Jack, that can't be true," he said. "Justin wouldn't do that, he couldn't be like that." 

"Josh, I saw it," I said, shaking my head. "I saw it, and he bragged to me about it afterward." 

"No, Jack, you have to be mistaken somehow," Josh said, shaking his head. "You have to be." 

"No mistake, actually," Justin said from behind us. We both spun, jumping out of the swing, and the dog jumped up, too. "Every word Jack just told you is true." 

"Justin, what are you doing here?" I asked, completely baffled. Where had he come from? 

"I came to tell the truth, like you said," Justin answered. "I thought ... " 

He didn't get to tell us what he thought, because he was cut off by Josh's tackle. 

"You son of a bitch!" Josh yelled, punching Justin in the stomach. 

Eyes wide, Justin skittered back away from Josh, stepping onto the dock. 

"Josh, stop!" I yelled, grabbing for his arm. He jerked away from me, lunging for Justin. 

"Motherfucker!" Josh yelled, tackling him. 

The two of them rolled off the end of the dock, and into the lake. The water closed over them.