Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Luke

Seven missed calls by four in the morning were a bad omen. Guilt ripped through me as I hurried back to the hotel. It mixed with worry over having disappeared for so many hours, but my heart kept looking away from the problems. It kept turning as if it could find Rafael still standing behind me.

He wasn't, of course. He had gone back to his hotel room to pack the few things he said he traveled with.

I hadn't realized how far we had wandered until I was in a pinch and hurrying along the Seine back to our hotel room. Things got more complicated when I took a wrong turn and had to retrace my steps until finding the hotel. Far above me, the indigo sky was showing signs of pale sunlight emerging.

As I hurried into the elevator, my palms grew slick with sweat. There was too much to be excited about. There was too much to say out loud .

It hadn't hurt. Sure, admitting it to someone for the first time made me shake and shudder, but the liberating feeling that followed was addictive. I had to tell Mom and Lucy. It was time to come out.

I swung the door of our suite, entering the sitting room, and I found Mother dozing in the armchair and Lucy fast asleep on the sofa with a fuzzy blue blanket thrown over her. Mom started the moment the door closed. A look of relief wiped away an instantaneous fury that crossed her face. "There you are," she said in a breath she had apparently been holding for hours. She crossed the room in four hasty paces and threw her arms around me. "Oh, God, don't you ever do something like that again, Luke. Do you hear me?" She trembled as her hands rubbed my back with one hand, arms coiled tightly around me as if she would never let me go out of her sight again.

When Mom pulled back from me, her eyes glimmered with brimming tears. She wiped them away carefully with her fingers and scoffed at herself. "And don't think you're out of it, mister, just because I'm happy to see you unharmed."

Warmth flooded my chest as I bit my lip. "I'm so sorry," I whispered.

"You better be," Mom said sternly, then pulled me into another tight hug. "Oh, come here." One of her hands dragged over my back while the other ran through my hair. "You silly boy. You scared me to death, disappearing like that. And in a city like this."

"I'm so sorry, Mom," I said. "I completely lost track of time. "

"I was going to call the cops in the morning," Mom explained, letting go of me. "Lucy convinced me to wait. She said I was panicking. And I was so that you know." Her tone and expression flickered between continuous intense relief and earth-shattering anger with me. She held them both close, not letting either prevail. "What happened, Luke?" Lucy stirred on the sofa, and Mom lowered her voice. "You're a perfect child, darling. You've never scared me like this."

I shrugged, unsure how to process all she was saying. "I don't know where to start," I said. "I really am sorry I scared you."

Mom gave the slightest nod, acknowledging my apology.

"I found some really good books," I said. It only made sense to do it chronologically. I set the paper bags on the table, and Mom looked through them while I spoke. "I went where I said I would go, the Labyrinth one, and found all these special editions. I had to carry them in my arm, so…"

"Is this a comic book?" Mom's quiet voice carried some surprise, of course. She was holding my new copy of The Sandman and cocking her head in confusion. "Since when do you read comic books?"

"Well, that's just it. There was this guy at the store—he's from the States, too, but lives in London. It's a long story. His dad's working at the US embassy in London. Anyway…" I skipped over the unimportant bits, getting carried away just because I got to talk about Rafael to someone. I told her how we had collided at the store and how he offered to make it ri ght by taking me out for ice cream. I didn't mention the wine because I was too young in her eyes for alcohol, I knew, even if nobody batted an eyelash at it here. I told her that we talked endlessly, ate, and sat in the park. I didn't specify that we were sprawling in the grass. "And, um, there's this thing I wanted to ask you if I could…erm…" Mom's frown had begun in surprise, but it was slowly morphing into something grotesque that made me feel like a circus freak that hardly sparked joy and interest. I paused, licked my lips, and got on with it. "I'd like to go to Budapest for a few days. I promise to be back in time to fly home. I know my promise doesn't carry that much weight after tonight, but I'll prove that you can trust me. And it's just a train ride away. If you want to, you and Lucy could…maybe…" To be honest, I didn't want my mother and sister to come along. Even if we all stayed far apart, I wanted to retain the magic of this night with Rafael. I wanted to lose myself in him and forget there was such a thing as time.

"Darling, you are not going to another country with a stranger you met on the street," Mom said flatly.

I blinked twice in rapid succession. "But…I didn't meet him on the street."

"That is beside the point," Mom said, firmer. "It's out of the question."

"I…" Words hitched in my throat. I have to. I promised. "I'm not a child." The tone I used might have belonged to a child with all the determination I failed to embed it with.

Mom shook her head. "You're not, but you're not much older, either. Why would you want this, Luke? You're in Paris, for God's sake."

Now, she would understand , I realized. I just didn't explain it right. "I like him," I said, a smile touching my lips before I could get there. My breath grew shallow, but I pushed on. "You always said I could tell you anything. Well…here goes. I like him. As a man." God, could I have chosen a worse way to put it? "As in…I'm gay."

Mom froze the way she stood and looked at me. Her nostrils flared once, briefly, and she blinked after an eternity that spanned a few heartbeats. "You are…? I don't understand, Luke."

"I'm…" But the word was suddenly too big, too serious, too embarrassing to utter. "I thought…"

Mom shook her head casually. "Darling, it's nearly six in the morning. You're tired. You had a strange episode last night. Why don't you sleep on it?"

"I didn't…it's…" What is happening? "It wasn't an episode." I had met a person I was desperate to see again. "Didn't you hear what I said?"

Mom nodded while looking innocently at my face. "I heard you, baby. I know this is hard to hear now that you're eighteen, but you're too young. You're too young to know these things for sure, Luke."

"I'm not too young," I snapped. I had known this about myself for six years. I suspected I had been aware of it even earlier, only I hadn't had a way to be certain.

"Hush," Mom said. "You'll wake your sister."

"I like men, Mom," I said, horror rising through me faster than I could screw the lid on it. "And I want to see Rafael. Just for a few days. I am eighteen." I grabbed The Sandman from her hands and thrust it into the bag, picked both bags up, and went into my room.

I didn't want to leave on such a terrible note. Things would be awkward for months if I did that. But I would if I had to. I would. Rafael was here, in Paris, and I liked the person I had been tonight. I liked who he saw in me. That had to be worth learning more about.

Mom followed me into the room. "Darling, you need a few hours of sleep."

"I need to pack," I said tersely.

She made a sound with her teeth. It was the way she made you aware of her patience. It was a sound she only ever used when one of her children was being hard to handle. "Darling, you can leave that for later."

My eyes stung. I thought it was just the lack of sleep, but heat followed, and it rolled down my cheeks as I rummaged through the wardrobe. Travel light , Rafael had said.

"This infatuation…it's temporary. You're not the first person it happened to." She spoke quietly. When I looked at her over my shoulder, she had her arms crossed. "Fine," she said, throwing her hands up. "Be like this. You're right. I can't stop you now that you are an adult, according to some paper that has nothing to do with a motherly instinct. But remember this: if you go on this dangerous trip, you are going to break my heart, Luke. Lucy and I will sit here worried about you every minute of every hour of every day. Is that really what you want?"

No. I didn't want that. But that wasn't what would happen, right ?

Mom swallowed, her lower lip trembling, and pulled away from my tiny room. She shut the door on her way out, leaving me alone and stunned.

In just one night, I had come out of the closet. Perhaps Mom could ignore it tonight when she was not herself after the ordeal I had caused, but she wouldn't want me to hide that. She wouldn't. And that was thanks to Rafael.

I had to go to Budapest in six hours. I had to find out more about him and myself.

If he could make me take charge of my life after one long conversation, what else could he teach me? For the first time since I was a clueless little boy, I felt comfortable in my own skin. It was like living your entire life with a stone plate pressing down on your chest, and one day, a beautiful young man stormed in and removed the weight with nothing but words; I could breathe deeply and fill my entire lungs with air as I had never suspected was possible.

You will break my heart , she had said.

Could she see I had no choice?

Rafael

Gare du Nord Train Station

11:41 a.m .

There was a blond head with big blue eyes before me. It had been on my mind all morning.

The face that looked up at me wherever I turned listened eagerly to my inner monologue. It was the face of a boy I had spent a night with on the streets of Paris. A shy, stiff, even prudish cast holding an adventurer hidden away deep within.

I rubbed my hands against my knees, the texture of my jeans not quite scratching a deep itch I could hardly do anything about. The cool sweat on my palms was another thing fully out of my control.

Luke Whitaker, the beautiful guy who would pick himself up on a whim and cross Europe with a stranger, was coming any minute. For all I knew, he could be standing behind my back.

I shifted on the bench and contained an excited smile.

The large hall that made up the interior of the central train station echoed with travelers speaking in too many languages for my brain to process, even if I were running at full capacity. I wasn't. My mind kept slipping away from the objects in focus to revisit the moments that now seemed like they had been a dream. Had we really sprawled in the grass in the park? Had I held his hand? Had we shared a bottle of wine—his first—by the Seine?

I hadn't lied to him. This was far from my usual routine. In fact, what I had was hardly a routine. As far as picking up went, I was not that experienced. Yet when I had spotted him lifting his arm to reach the highest book on the shelf with no success, his shirt untucked and revealing a strip of creamy skin, the desire to speak to him and to help him out had overcome my senses.

Had he not been so cute when he was scared or surprised or, admittedly, completely misguided about what made a book great, I might have been able to resist that pull. But because Luke was the sweetest little thing I had ever come across, I could not stop looking for ways to remain near him for another heartbeat. And another. And another…

This is impossible , I thought. It's completely mad . We were about to board the train to Budapest, and my mind raced with all the things I would do for him. Underneath that calm, composed mask, Luke was clearly someone who wanted more out of life but didn't dare to demand what was his by right. I could see that in people better than anyone. I had been like that for so long. And I would teach him how to break free. It always started with running away.

I patted my backpack. Traveling light was the only way to do it for a single guy without a destination. What if I decided to continue all the way to Istanbul? I couldn't be bothered dragging several suitcases without a place to stay when I got there. This green canvas bag had everything I needed. Two changes of clothes, two books, and my camera.

I looked at the big hanging clock. One minute late, but that was alright.

Still, uneasiness started filling me. People, so many different, beautiful, interested people, entered the train that was Budapest-bound. Our train. Its doors kept opening and closing whenever someone or a pair or an entire group approached.

Smells of food and industrial oil and dusk, of cigarette smoke and damp concrete, of cologne and summer sweat swirled around me, mixing, merging, clashing.

I pulled the bag closer, one hand resting on top. If I could only calm down my right foot, it would be great to stop tapping the tiled floor.

Unintelligible announcements came from the sound system. Even with my proficiency, I understood nearly none of them. Instead, I glanced at the digital board with the list of trains and their departure times. Ours was on time. Could my steellike determination hold off our train? I doubted I was stubborn enough.

I swept the backpack off the bench as I stood and strode down to the carriage door. I gazed at it, then at the clock, then at the crowd of people flowing in and out of the station. As if a great, big heart was pumping them in and out, the crowd swelled and dispersed and swelled again.

I saw shapes everywhere: pretty people, young people, the elderly, boys and girls, milky and tawny, curly, bald, unkempt, fashionable. I saw brown hair, gingers, blonds, and black-haired people like me. I saw tall guys and short guys. I saw so many faces, but none of them were right.

Seconds ticked away faster than I liked.

I threw my backpack over my left shoulder and held the strap in an iron grip. My teeth gritted, and I held my breath. What did you expect? I asked myself .

I wouldn't resort to cynicism. That was the shield of the weak, of the scared, and of the lost. I had, with my entire soul, expected Luke Whitaker to appear. Any moment now, I still expected him to run, red-faced with heat, his blond locks tousled with sweat, a smile beaming on his face upon seeing me. He would come. He'd said he would.

My heart tripped more than once when I moved my gaze away from the main hall leading to the platforms, then returned it afresh. My brain played tricks on me, showing me a glimpse of Luke before erasing him from the platform.

Last call for all passengers.

Come now , I growled inside my head. Come, you beautiful boy. Let's do this crazy thing .

But only a group of Italian girls hurried to my platform to board the train. And once they were inside, I promised myself another glance. One last-ditch effort to manifest Luke into appearing. So I closed my eyes, lowered my head, said a few magic words, and looked at the checkpoint between the platforms and the rest of the station, my heart rising to my throat.

Nothing.

He wasn't there.

With a nod to myself, I swallowed whatever discomfort was lodged in my throat, and I boarded the train. My cheap seat was numbered, but nobody batted an eyelash at the numbers declared on their tickets. Instead, I threw my backpack onto the overhead rack, pulled out my battered copy of Royal Assassin , and revisited the trusted friend I found in the book's protagonist. The seat next to me was empty.

And against all odds, and despite all my efforts to be realistic, I couldn't start reading my favorite chapters. I couldn't even look at the pages. Instead, I looked at my feet, ears straining to hear hurried footsteps and a huff of heated breath after he ran all the way here to catch the train. I waited for him to appear next to me like some silly dreamer I admittedly was.

I waited until the train moved, and the seat next to me remained empty.