8. Hopeless Romeos

CHAPTER 8

Hopeless Romeos

Everett

I wished I had a photograph of Roman as he had been in the last moment before I had left his room six days ago. This entire week passed in a blur of expectation and only one incredibly distant glimpse of Roman at a moment when it was absolutely impossible for me to meet with him or even let him know I had spotted him.

Sunday was our family day. I couldn't skip the mass, no matter how much the thought of stepping inside St. Augustine's cathedral made my stomach turn. During the week, there was never a good moment for me to provide an excuse and be out. Mother arranged an unofficial church group meeting right in our apartment on Wednesday, inviting Joseph Burton and his sweet, quiet, unopinionated girlfriend, Anita Blakely. When she appeared, my breath nearly left my body. Anita Blakely was the pretty girl I had occasionally seen in church. She looked as beautiful up close as she had from the distance. And, like always, seeing her made me think of her twin brother. Alex, she said he was called. But now, after knowing Roman so well, Alex Blakely was nothing but an old, lingering bit of melancholy somewhere deep in me. I found that I could admire Anita's beauty and Alex's as well, without my brain supplying me with wild fantasies. If anything, seeing Anita made me think of Roman even more.

Annabeth, my former girlfriend in my final, desperate attempt to turn myself straight, was also present, despite my protests. "Darling, you parted on good terms, and people change. Do they not?" And that was that.

Yesterday, when I floated the idea of maybe going out, Mother was completely against it. She insisted she needed someone to accompany her to St. Augustine's in the afternoon to oversee some of the volunteers sorting newly acquired items for the homeless. It was not something I wanted to cancel, even though I was growing desperate to see Roman. For all the cold shrugs I received from her in our daily life, my mother was not a bad person. She was there in person rather than sending her chauffeur or hiring an assistant.

When I left my room around three in the afternoon, dressed to go out, Mother and Father were sitting in the dining room. Father was in between some distracting calls, which I had overheard from my room.

I cleared my throat. "Hey," I said quietly, proceeding to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of orange juice. "I was thinking…" My heart skipped a beat. Cold sweat covered my palms, and I hadn't even begun the conversation. The handle of the cold pitcher felt like holding a steel handle of a dagger. "You were right. I'm going to go mad if I don't start doing something soon."

"It took you long enough," Mother said. "Let's hear it." She made an impatient expression as if expecting me to announce I would be joining a circus.

It's much worse than that, Mother , I thought, licking my dry lips. "I'd like an internship at our company."

"Your father's company should be glad to have you," Mother said, possibly solely to correct me.

"I'm not sure about that," I said, aiming for modesty in my tone as I poured myself a full glass of juice. I begged any god paying attention not to tremble and spill my juice. "But I can learn." Some small part of me screamed against this. I knew I was on a path that would shatter my father's plans. I knew that this was the full and true act of betrayal. I couldn't pretend it wasn't.

Mother eyed me suspiciously. "Harold?" she said. "What do you say to this?"

"Hm? Oh. Sure." He must have sensed the iciness in the air that followed his words for a few long heartbeats because he lifted his head and blinked confusedly. "I mean, of course, he can learn. This will all be his in good time, Lavinia. Why don't you come with me on Monday to meet the Urban Development guys?"

A shudder rose from my stomach, and I fought to suppress it. There was no stopping your body's reactions, so I fell back to concealing it instead. Clearing my throat, I nodded. "That sounds good. But…what would I do there?" I knew I was only asking this because that tiny part of me had hoped that Father would turn me down. I wouldn't have to stab him in the back. Nobody couldn't blame me if I tried and failed.

"Sit. Listen. Learn." Father returned to the tablet in front of him.

"You heard your father," Mother said.

My heart thundered as I saw myself open my mouth to ask my next question. I didn't need to jump in front of the limelight so bluntly, yet here I was. "Is it about that lot on the Hudson River? The bar?"

Mother clenched her teeth. "What do you know about that?"

I held my breath for a moment before shrugging. "Only what you said the other day."

Father lifted his gaze to me. "Near the Hudson River. Only from the tenth floor up will they have the view. Yes, it seems it won't be smooth sailing after all."

"That den of perversion deserved to be flattened to the ground," Mother said venomously.

"For chrissake, Lavinia," Dad said in frustration.

"Do not tell me to be silent, Harold," Mother hissed. "You may act like a cynic and plant doubts into my heart over the fate of your own soul, Harold, but you cannot deny the truth when it's staring right into your face."

Unadulterated fear filled me like balefire. No. It was not hot at all. It was cold and huge, like a glacier, and it froze everything inside of me.

"What is it now?" Dad asked. They were too busy squabbling to notice that I had been holding a full glass of juice in my left hand, unable to put it down or lift it further. Had either of them spared me a glance just then, my fears would have been clear as day to them.

But judging by Mother's concerned expression, something had upset her much more than the regular dose of "gays are ruining this world" problems. Her eyes, normally dry and narrow, reflected sunlight in the welling tears. She pursed her lips and blinked the tears away, making me scared for my life just then.

"I'm telling you, Harold, those people need to be ferreted out of their dens," she said stiffly, but the cold anger in her voice was artificial. It only vaguely hid the desperation. "Anyone could stumble and fall. Cursed with the sin of pride and living in these times when more and more people are turning their backs on the only chance for salvation, these people are in our homes. Everett." She bit off my name so hard that I nearly dropped the glass.

"Yes?" My voice was dry and husky.

"On Wednesday, were you alone with anyone here?" she asked.

I tried to remember Wednesday. "Alone?"

"Did you stay alone with someone from the church group?" she asked.

"Lavinia, what is the point of this?" Dad pleaded.

Pressing her lips tightly together, my mother lifted her chin in that righteous way of hers. "Joseph Burton. Barbara told me herself. The poor woman is beside herself. She won't host the book club or join should anyone else do it for tonight. We spoke just this morning, and I've been praying for her all day. Poor woman."

"What happened to Joseph? Is he alright?" I asked. It wasn't exactly that I worried about him. I didn't hate the guy. I merely disliked everything about him for the simple fact that my mother had never been able to let go of that tiny sliver of jealousy. Barbara Burton had the perfect son, and Lavinia Langley didn't. Yeah, it was safe to say I didn't care what had happened to Joseph.

"I feel soiled even repeating it," Mother said tersely. "Last night, Barbara and Joe Bob were supposed to visit Barbara's ailing mother, but a flat tire upset her so much that Barbara insisted they return home at once…" Mother's breath hitched in her throat. "It was like the Almighty had designed it. You see, the truth will always reveal itself. He guided them home only to discover…" She shuddered with disgust that broke my heart.

"What, Lavinia? What did they discover?" Father begged impatiently.

"Joseph. Sharing his bed with a man." Mother looked like someone who had stepped into a pile of dog shit. I fought as hard as I could to keep my face from contorting. "His girlfriend's twin brother," she whispered hurriedly like it was a sin to speak the words.

My heart sank a little. Alex Blakely, who looked like an elf, got caught in Joseph Burton's bed by the devout Catholics Barbara and Joe Bob. What a fucking mess. "What happened then?" I asked, my voice sounding like it belonged to someone else.

"The Blakelys are accusing Joseph of seducing this…man…and Barbara says it's the other way around, but there's no reasoning with Joseph. He's completely changed. He speaks to them like he had never spoken before. Shouts at his parents, cries, and slams doors like he's possessed. He…will be moving out this weekend. Barbara thinks it's for the best. It was Joe Bob's idea that the boy should leave and find his own way. I disagree."

Something shifted inside of me. What did she mean?

But the cold slap of my Mother's righteousness didn't miss me. "If they harbor any hope that Joseph will voluntarily enter conversion therapy, which they certainly do, then they understand nothing of these things. He must be made to see that his affliction…"

The rest was simply a ringing noise that flooded my ears. I pressed the glass against my lips and drank deeply. So that was that. Joseph Burton was gay, and it cost him everything .

But only because he got caught , some small voice told me.

Everyone gets caught sooner or later , I replied silently.

For one desperate moment, I wondered if it was too late for me to turn things around. Then, like a cat realizing the mouse it toyed with was long dead, I set that thought aside. I wasn't going to spend my life like this. I wasn't going to sneak around until I was caught off guard like Joseph and Alex. Fuck that. It was time for me to act.

It was time to put this dagger where it needed to go.

Roman

Luke Whitaker's signing event attracted well over five hundred people. Poor Rafael needed to drive to the storage locker six blocks away to fetch more books. Twice.

Mama Viv's idea to hold the signing on her stage was a stroke of brilliance. Our petition had been registered earlier this week, so the event that kicked it off was perfect. The author of some of the most beloved queer fantasy graphic novels could bring a crowd to Neon Nights on short notice, it turned out.

Bradley found a clever way to offer the visitors discounted drinks without losing money on them, and Tristan and I decided to set up the petition signing table for everyone who had their book signed. Luke took the time to tell every single person who approached him about the troubles Neon Nights faced, so our petition received signatures from all of his readers.

Rafael documented the events in all his spare minutes when he wasn't hauling extra inventory. He filmed Luke's speech about the event at the start of the signing and photographed people who were willing to be photographed.

Tristan and I kept getting more water to our table because speaking so much with everyone was a much thirstier business than I'd imagined. This was no die-in on the street. This was real work.

"I'm just saying, it's been a few days," Tristan said.

I looked into my best friend's eyes reproachfully. It stung that he was right. "Maybe it's time for Cedric to come out," I said. It was spiteful and unnecessary, and I regretted it immediately.

Tristan stiffened a little. "Give him time, Rome. We both need to process it."

"I know," I said in a soft voice. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

Tristan nodded understandingly. "You're on edge. I get it."

"It sucks," I admitted, shifting a little to face him. Our tables were joined together and covered with a big, white cloth that was cluttered with petition papers and flyers we were handing out. "Everett's parents are super religious. And I mean serious, devout Catholics. He's struggling with that."

"I understand," Tristan said. "I didn't mean anything by it. I'm just worried that we don't have a way to contact him."

"He'll show up," I said with the sort of firmness I didn't feel.

Everett had been so reluctant to leave that night after we'd had sex. It was almost like he feared something on instinct or premonition. My heart lurched whenever I thought of him. What if it had been too soon after all? What if he'd gotten caught somehow? What if…?

I had hoped to see him earlier this week. After Saturday night, I had somehow assumed he would find excuses to come and find me. I had expected him to be around more and to see what the plans were. The corkboard was installed by the bar with the events we were planning and the volunteer signup book that Bradley curated. On Tuesday, we'd staged an impromptu protest on Billionaires' Row one morning, catching a good sight of Harold Langley as he was leaving his residence up in the clouds. He was aware of us, I knew. I had just hoped to share that small, victorious moment with the person who was never too absent from my mind.

"Hey," Tristan said urgently.

I looked at his worried expression, then followed his gaze to the front door of the bar. There, walking like he carried all the burdens of the universe, was Everett. He wore a black shirt tucked into his light gray pants, and a dark burgundy sweater hung from around his shoulders, its sleeves tied over Everett's big chest. He looked like a preppy frat boy and a total wet dream of mine. His pants were tight, his shirt fitted, and his haircut fresh. Just seeing him dialed up the everlasting desire that simmered within me.

"You're blushing," Tristan said.

"Bite me," I said.

My friend poked me in the ribs, and I yelped, immediately embarrassed. Everett had a grim expression on his face as he pushed through the crowd of Luke's excited fans. They seemed to part before him without really noticing what they were doing. Everett had this immense aura in the dusk glow that poured through the windows that made him look fiery. His eyes were on me as he crossed the room.

"There he is," I said, grinning like a schoolboy faced with his biggest crush.

Everett's intense gaze never left my eyes. His words then set fire to my soul. "I missed you." His voice was deep and heavy, like he was relaying the most important information ever. To me, perhaps it was just that.

I had nothing clever to say to him. The reply was a simple, unstoppable smile.

"Are you busy?" Everett asked.

I looked at the papers scattered before me and the small cluster of people who were heading toward our table. "A little. You could sign the petition while you're there."

"Later," Everett said, tension rippling over his face. "I'll sign it later. But… Oh, sorry." He stepped aside while three girls and two guys approached the table, asking if they could sign the petition to protect Neon Nights.

Tristan and I got down to talking to the group as it split into two lines, one for me and one for Tris. We explained the grave need for volunteers, picket-line attendees, and awareness campaigners. These five happily signed the petition and moved over to Bradley to sign up for volunteering.

I looked up at Everett. "The corkboard is up with the schedule. I'd love to see you tomorrow for the ball. Sodom and Gomorrah are coming from Vegas to perform."

Everett's facial muscles tensed, but he nodded as if to confirm he would be here.

"I'll be off tonight," I said, trying my hardest not to sound teasing while letting my eyes do precisely that. Tristan choked on a sip of water, letting me know I'd failed to conceal the alluring tone.

"Great," Everett said. "It's just that I…" He looked at two men nearing the tables. "God, I really picked a moment, huh?"

"Are you alright?" I asked, worry finally coming through the veil of happiness that had overwhelmed me when I saw him.

Everett shrugged. "Not sure yet."

"Rome, why don't you take a break? I can handle this," Tristan said.

"Are you sure?" But even as I asked, I was pushing my chair back.

Tristan nodded. "This is a nice crowd. They can wait a few minutes longer."

"Thank you," I said, but those two words couldn't contain all the gratitude that I felt. I stood up and gestured at the back of the bar with my hand, but Everett gave a slightly jerky shake of his head and led the way outside.

The dusk glow was fading, letting the night creep in. Everett walked stiffly, his shoulders squared, his face hard. He gazed out into the distance as we walked. Somehow, I didn't fear he was here to tell me it had all been a mistake. After all, he'd started by telling me he missed me. But there was more to it than that. It felt as if Everett was only now letting this tension show. It felt like he was safe enough with me to be stressed.

"My parents think I'm watching a polo game," he said with a slight note of contempt.

We walked for a little while longer as the muscles in Everett's face tensed and relaxed. After a minute, we slipped into a narrower street.

"They don't suspect a thing," he said and sounded like he was on the verge of a bitter laugh. "Nobody does." This he said with clear guilt. "Roman, there's something I need to tell you."

I swallowed and discovered that my throat was very tight. "Whatever it is, it can't be that bad."

"Oh?" His voice was hoarse, like he was fighting to hold something back. He shook his head. "Something awful happened."

I reached for his upper arm and took it, slowing him down. Surely we were far enough from prying ears and eyes.

"This guy I used to know from my mother's group got caught having sex with another guy from church and…" He shook his head. "They kicked him out, Rome. His own parents kicked him out."

"Fuck," I said. "I'm sorry." I hesitated, resisting the urge to wave a magic wand and solve everything by saying he was welcome in Neon Nights. The bar was a safe place, but it wasn't all-powerful. "Was he a friend of yours?"

Everett sucked his teeth and tossed his head. "I kinda hated him. My mother always…" He paused and shook his head. "It doesn't matter why. But when they kicked him out, my own mother said she would have forced him to a conversion camp. No. Hold on. That's not what I need to tell you. Fuck. I wish I could be good with words like you. It's just that it's hard, after everything, and I'm scared…"

Seeing this big, muscled man admit he was scared of something touched the deepest, darkest corner of my soul. My heart went out to him. "I'm here," I whispered.

But Everett pulled a little back when I began lifting my arms for a hug. He shot his words like a bullet. "He's my father." His voice rang against the brick walls that closed in around us. For a moment, I tried to retrace the words and see where I missed something, but Everett spoke again with the gravity of someone jumping off a cliff. "Harold Langley. That's who my father is, Rome. I'm Everett Langley."

It broke my heart that he looked at me pleadingly just when my body recoiled from him.

It was stronger than me. It was an instant, physical reaction you'd have if you saw a hateful snake while weeding your flower bed or an abusive father slapping his child. It was the shock.

He saw me pull back, and that was what broke him. He slouched, took a step back, and exhaled. "Yeah," he huffed. "I'd hate me, too."

I stared at him. That fitted shirt and the fancy sweater and the perfect pants that hugged his ass lovingly, the shoes that were polished to perfection, the wristwatch I'd only just noticed. Fuck. Everett Langley, the son of a billionaire construction mogul, the heir to the empire that reshaped the face of New York City.

The son of a man who had bulldozers thundering toward our home.

But then I caught myself. Everett offered us proof, and I doubted he was a double agent. He was too tortured to be his father's spy. After all, Harold Langley didn't need spies when he had the New York elite in his pocket.

Everett was the guy in the headquarters. Everett was the guy who would rat out the Langley emperor.

I blinked, my mouth still twisted, my eyebrows contorted. "You can't be," I whispered. My mouth was running late. My brain had already gone through the loops, but the words only now came. "We…we slept together."

Everett closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Roman."

"We had sex," I whispered a little louder as if that would make me believe it sooner. "And you didn't tell me."

"I wanted to," Everett said.

"Oh, that's alright, then," I said with all my sarcasm boiling over. I wished I could have stopped myself. I wished that way too often.

"Roman, you have to believe me," he began, falling quiet at the irony in his own words.

I swallowed and dared myself to step forward. I succeeded, even if it was only by a fraction of a pace. "Did you think we wouldn't have sex again?"

"What?" It was a breath rather than a sound of his voice. "No. Of course I didn't think that."

"Why did you lie to me, then?" I asked. No. It wasn't a question. It was a demand, plain and simple.

Everett pursed his lips, but a tremor passed through them anyway. "Because I wanted you too much."

"Classy," I spat, hating myself for this destructive streak of cynicism.

Everett shrugged and flapped his hands impotently to his sides. "Rome, I'm a liar. That's what I am. Maybe I wouldn't have been if I knew what unconditional love was. With Harold and Lavinia, it was always conditional. And that meant I had to lie through my goddamn teeth." He stepped back, arms limp, gaze downcast. He shook his head. "I lied to you because it's my instinct to hide. I hid myself from them, and then I hid myself from you."

I was silent for a little while. Well, long enough that Everett lifted his gaze questioningly to my face, clearly awaiting a storm that simply didn't come. Exhaling, I stepped back. "We grow up playing parts we think will help us be accepted."

Everett's eyebrows flickered upward, but he seemed to force a calm expression to his face, not daring to show hope.

"All gay people know this. We don't have happy childhoods; we have careful ones. When everyone else steps into adulthood, we see it and decide it's time to come out. They become adults, and we only learn how to walk." My throat closed, and I used my leftover anger to force the words out. "So much of our lives is wasted on peeling off the lies we told ourselves as kids. I'm sorry, Everett."

"Sorry?" he whispered.

I nodded. "I'm sorry you think you're a liar. And I'm sorry you think you have to lie to me to be accepted."

"You're…not angry?" Everett asked.

"Angry," I repeated as if saying that word for the first time. I was exhausted from today and from a week of walking on needles, worrying about him. "No. I'm not angry."

His lower lip quivered, and his eyes glimmered. "I'm sorry, Roman. I should have told you before we had sex. I should have told you right away." He looked into my eyes as he said that, blinking once and spilling thick streaks of tears down his handsome cheeks. He didn't shudder or cry more.

My own tears welled in my eyes, and I freed myself of whatever was holding me back. I stepped forward, arms spreading a little and sliding under his arms. I hugged him, resting my head on his shoulder, feeling his chin on the top of my head as he placed his hands on my upper back. "You should have," I whispered, tears trickling shyly down my face. "But it's okay. We're in this together."

"We are?" he asked, his voice gruff as if he tried to man up after the display of emotion. It made my heart fuller than I could put into words.

"We are," I said, holding him tighter.

"You forgive me?" he asked.

I pulled back after a moment, reluctant to separate from him but desperate to look into his eyes. "Everett, I don't even blame you."

He stood there, staring at me in wonder. Part of me believed that Everett expected more. He expected me to rage and blackmail and fight. He expected me to hurt him before this could be resolved.

"Do you want to be my boyfriend?" he blurted.

My lips stretched into a smile that probably punched dimples in my cheeks even before I knew it. "I want to be your boyfriend," I said, fresh tears welling into my eyes.

"Really?" he asked.

I laughed, those same tears rolling down my cheeks. "Really. Really-really."

The doubts disappeared from him. He took one determined step toward me, his big hands closing around my face, his head leaning down. When he slammed his lips against mine, I was in heaven. The bliss of desire and happiness filled me like some sort of white heat that would obliterate me if it could.

We kissed for a long, greedy moment, letting ourselves taste our salty tears and letting the small, confused sobs break out, interrupting the delight. I didn't know if I was crying or laughing. I just knew I was happy.

And when he pulled back, he looked into my eyes with a mixture of worry and longing. "We're in this together."

I nodded firmly, his hands hot against my cheeks. His thumbs brushed my tears away.

"What about the others?" he asked.

I pulled my lower lip between my teeth and sighed. "I don't know. It has to be your choice."

"But…do you think they'll expel me?" he asked with genuine concern.

I shook my head in his hands. "I don't think kicking people out is their way of doing things." As Everett slowly removed his hands from my face, we continued to look into one another's eyes. "They're my family, Everett. More than my real parents ever were. I'll make sure they understand."

I let out a breath of air that was almost an amused chuckle. "It's your family against mine, Romeo."

I put my hands on his nice, black shirt, feeling the hard pecs underneath. "And we're caught in the middle of the feud."

"Caught?" he cracked a smile. "We're actively contributing."

I licked my lips and returned the smile. "Well, then, if it comes to it, it'll be a sleeping draught so there aren't any misunderstandings."

He sighed with relief. "Good. I was worried for a moment."

After we shared a laugh, the tension fading away and leaving that odd, fuzzy warmth that was always present when Everett was near me, we exchanged a more serious look. "I think you should tell them when you're ready."

Everett nodded. "I'm ready."

I offered him my hand, and he took it without hesitating. Together, made our way back to Neon Nights.