crowd and went after him. “Hey!” he yelled. “Wait!”
Daddy turned. “Keaton. Didn’t expect to see you
here.”
“Have you seen Aiden?”
“Uh-uh,” Daddy said. “Aiden hasn’t been here in
ages. We all heard he was living with you.”
“I need to find him. He’s here with Scott Runge.”
“Scott?” Daddy said. “I saw him earlier at the bar.
Bo might know where to find him—he’s always hanging
around Scott. Bo’s on the dance floor.” He pointed to a
tall, lanky man moving with surprising grace in the
center of the floor. The two of them struggled through
the sea of people to Bo.
“Bo!” Daddy yelled.
Bo didn’t look up, just kept dancing, eyes half-
closed, seemingly oblivious to the scene around him.
“Bo!” they yelled together.
Bo jerked and looked at them. Daddy cupped his
hands around his mouth and yelled slowly, “We need to
find
Aiden
…
Cole
… ”
Bo stared at them blankly, still dancing. Keaton was
ready to shake him when Bo said, “He left with Scott.”
* * * *
gasped and hunched against the pain. Scott struck the
middle of his back. It hurt worse than Aiden could have
imagined, and there was no eroticism helping him
translate the hurt into pleasure, no hope of orgasm, no
desire to please. The third stroke fell lower, the loop of
the belt bruising the small of his back. The fourth caught
his hip, making him twist. He let out a choked sob and
willed himself to stay still, to keep breathing until his
mind traveled away from his body, to a quiet place free
from Scott or Keaton, love, or the future.
Keaton. His mind was soaring away, but one string
still held it. Scott drew back for a fifth stroke.
“Mushroom,” Aiden said, stepping away from the wall.
Scott hesitated. “Get back in position.”
Aiden looked at him through tears. “No. I want to
go home, Scott.”
Scott stared at him. Aiden could feel him wavering
between forcing Aiden back into position and stopping
the scene. This Scott was different from the one Aiden
had known months ago. The desperate loneliness,
longing, and uncertainty that Aiden used to catch from
the other man only in rare moments was now so potent
that it hurt Aiden to be near it.
After a moment, Scott dropped his belt. “Okay,” he
said softly.
“I don’t know where to go, though.” Aiden wiped
his eyes. “Keaton won’t want me.” He punched the wall.
“Shit!” How had he managed to ruin everything? “I’m
fucked. I’m so fucked!”
“Jesus, boy, calm down. Okay.” Scott picked up
Aiden’s ruined shirt and handed it to him. “Get
dressed.”
Aiden held the shirt but didn’t move.
“We didn’t do anything. Your boyfriend’ll be fine.”
Aiden didn’t answer. If there was any way to
disappear completely, he would.
“Where’s your phone?” Scott asked. “We’ll call
him.”
“I lost it,” Aiden said, gripping his shirt, trembling
with the effort to control himself.
“Come on.” Scott took Aiden’s shirt from him and
helped him put it on. Then he took out his own cell.
“What’s his number?”
“Oh shit. No. I fucked up. I can’t—”
“Tell me his number!”
Aiden gave him Keaton’s number. “I’m not going
back there. I can’t.”
“Shut up.” Scott dialed.
* * * *
Hera’s car. He didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?”
“Keaton? Scott Runge.”
A thousand scenarios leaped to his mind: Scott was
holding Aiden for ransom. Scott was calling to tell
Keaton he and Aiden were running off together. Scott
had accidentally killed Aiden in a scene. All Keaton
wanted to do to Scott—all he’d wanted for months—was
to punch the man’s teeth up into his skull. Instead he was
going to have a phone conversation with him. “Where’s
Aiden?” Keaton demanded.
“He’s here.” Keaton was surprised by how shaken
Scott sounded. “I was gonna drive him home. But he
won’t—he doesn’t think you’ll… He and I didn’t do
anything, I swear.”
“Put him on.”
“He’s not—”
“
Put him on
.”
There was a crackle as the phone changed hands.
Keaton saw Hera’s car and flagged her down. Aiden’s
voice came on the line. He sounded weary, uncertain,
hopeless. “Keaton?”
“I’m coming to get you. Stay right where you are.
Don’t explain, don’t argue,
don’t
leave.”
“I can’t—”
“Aiden, I’m about at the end of my patience. I’ll see
you in fifteen minutes.”
* * * *
dressing and followed Scott to the living room to wait.
No way would Keaton take him back. Keaton probably
just wanted the chance to punish him; then he’d kick
Aiden out. He’d never be able to explain to Keaton what
had happened in his mind tonight. Not that there was
any excuse for what he’d done. He leaned back against
the couch cushions and hugged his knees to his chest.
Scott put a tentative hand on his shoulder. Neither of
them said anything until Hera’s car pulled into the
driveway. Then Scott helped him into his jacket, took his
hand, and led him out to the porch.
Keaton raced up the drive and, ignoring Aiden’s
cringe, took Aiden in his arms and crushed him.
“You foolish kid,” he whispered.
Aiden wasn’t quite sure whether Keaton was going
to strangle him or take him home, but he breathed in
Keaton’s wool coat, deciding if it was the last thing he
ever smelled, that would be all right. Keaton put a hand
under Aiden’s jaw and tilted his face up, inspecting it.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
Aiden shook his head.
Keaton rounded on Scott. “What the hell were you
doing?”
Aiden turned and saw, for the first time, Scott
Runge looking nervous. “He wanted pain,” Scott said.
“That’s it. No sex. Wouldn’t even let me touch him.” He
cleared his throat. “It’s my fault. I’ve been messaging him
for weeks, trying to get him to play. He never answered
until tonight.”
“You,” Keaton told Scott, “are a monster. A sadist.
A rapist. And apparently a stalker too.”
“Wait,” Aiden said. He wasn’t sure if what Keaton
said was true or not. Maybe Scott was all of those things.
Maybe Aiden should leave without ever speaking to
Scott Runge again. But he looked at Scott and didn’t see
the terrifying face from his nightmares. He saw a man
who was as confused as Aiden was about love, about
relationships, about pain. Scott had only whoever he
took home each night. He didn’t have anything like what
Aiden and Keaton had. “Thank you,” Aiden said to Scott.
“For calling Keaton.”
Scott nodded.
Aiden felt the tension linger in Keaton’s body as he
stared at Scott, felt him swallow the words he wanted to
say. Keaton put a hand on Aiden’s back and steered him
off the porch, down the drive, and to Hera’s car.
They drove home.
Aiden slept well into the afternoon. He woke
confused—the walls were deep blue with twisting silver
shapes, ghostly figures entangled. Then he remembered
he’d insisted on sleeping in the guest room. He hadn’t
wanted to corrupt Keaton’s bed by sleeping there. He
stretched and caught the medicinal scent of the salve
Keaton had put on his welts. He curled into a ball, not
wanting to remember the details of last night. He closed
his eyes, hoping to go back to sleep, where he wouldn’t
have to remember anything. After ten minutes of tossing
and turning, he got up and went downstairs.
Keaton sat at the table, drinking coffee. He stared
straight ahead, and the unreadable expression on his face
frightened Aiden. But it was too late to turn back. He
stepped into the room and hovered near the table.
“Sleep okay?” Keaton asked. His voice was calm,
but some of the warmth was missing.
“Don’t,” Aiden said, sitting down beside him.
“Don’t what?”
“Pretend we’re all right.” Keaton had refused all of
Aiden’s attempts at conversation last night. His only
concern had been getting Aiden cleaned up and put to
bed.
“Okay,” Keaton said.
Aiden took a deep breath. “I figured I’d just take a
couple of days to get my stuff together… maybe move
back in with Hera for a little while.”
“You’re leaving, then?”
“Don’t you want me to?”
Keaton turned his coffee mug in his hands. “That’s
the opposite of what I want. But I can’t stop you.”
“How can you want me here after what I did?”
“What, exactly, did you do? I’m trying to
understand.”
Aiden ignored the tightness in his throat. “We
didn’t fuck, Keaton, I swear on my life.”
“You think that’s what I care about?” Keaton’s voice
was no longer calm; it brimmed with anger and hurt.
“Whether or not you had sex?”
“I—”
“He is
dangerous
. You knew that, and you went to
him anyway.”
Aiden’s face was hot, and his eyes stung with tears.
He knew he deserved Keaton’s censure—and a lot worse
—but he’d never heard Keaton angry before. “I stopped
him almost right away. It didn’t feel right at all.”
Keaton sighed and put his face in his hands. “What
if he hadn’t stopped?”
Aiden didn’t think it was possible for his face to get
any hotter. “I know it’s no excuse, but I really didn’t
answer any of his texts until last night. I just felt so shitty,
and I… I completely fucked up. I know that.”
Keaton was silent for a long, horrible moment.
Aiden struggled not to cry.
“What is it?” Keaton asked. “Is it the danger? Do
you need to know he might not stop? Or is it the pain?
What does he give you, Aiden?”
Aiden didn’t answer. Keaton pounded the table
with his fist. Aiden jumped. “Last night… Scott was the
only person I knew who would treat me the way I
deserved to be treated. I was horrible to you, and to Hera
and Kim and Sloane. I’ve spent so much time these last
few weeks worrying about the future that I haven’t
appreciated what I have
now
as much as I could. I
realized that, once I was with Scott. That’s why I stopped
him.”
Keaton was silent again. Aiden thought if the floor
opened up and swallowed him whole, it wouldn’t be
enough to save him from this utter disgrace. He picked
at a hangnail on his thumb.
Keaton said, slowly, “I always thought the most
important rule we came up with was number five. It
guaranteed that I would always be accessible to you, and
that you would trust me enough to submit to me for help
when you needed it. I was so proud the night you called
me in Cleveland. I thought it meant you really
got
it, that
you trusted me. So why couldn’t you tell me about
Scott?”
Aiden blinked, and a couple of tears fell. He
swiped at them with the back of his fist and didn’t speak.
He was surprised when Keaton reached over and moved
his hand so that he’d stop picking the hangnail. He
rubbed Aiden’s knuckles briefly with his thumb.
“I do trust you,” Aiden whispered. “But I thought I
could handle it. I felt like I needed you too much, like I
had to learn to do things for myself, because you
wouldn’t always be there.”
“You do know how to do things for yourself. All I
do is guide you, help you make choices.”
The tears fell steadily now.
If only there was a pill that
cured wimpiness
.
“But I need you so much.”
“The feeling,” Keaton said, “is mutual.”
Aiden stopped crying. How could Keaton need
him? He didn’t offer Keaton the things Keaton gave him
—guidance, security, or anything but trouble. But
looking at Keaton, Aiden knew the man meant it.
“Irvine rejected me.” Aiden laughed bitterly.
“That’s the ironic thing. I ruined our relationship partly
because I was scared about what would happen if I had
to move away to go to school, but I’m actually going to
be stuck in this town for the rest of my life making
pizza.”
“Enough of that. One rejection from one school at
the age of twenty-three does not decide the course of