Chapter Seven #2
Sam reached down to zip up his jacket, a slight tremble in his hand. He clenched it and rose to his feet. “I’m heading out. Nice to see you all.” He stepped past Blake without another word and threaded his way through the crowd toward the exit.
Blake sniggered. “Must’ve hit a nerve.”
Connor stood and squared off against the man.
“Get fucked, Plimmerton,” he muttered and knocked Blake with his shoulder as he followed Sam’s path down the stairs.
He caught up with him outside the school.
“Wait up.” He reached for Sam’s elbow as they stepped out onto the crosswalk. “Let me walk you home.”
“Why?” Sam retorted, pulling his arm away. “I’ve already encountered the worst thing lurking the streets of Oakdale.”
“I don’t know about that. I hear the playground flasher’s still at large,” Connor joked, trying to lighten the mood.
Sam said nothing, but he didn’t stop Connor from accompanying him across the road and down a tree-lined street.
It was a warm evening, and the sky was streaked a dusky orange as the sun began to set.
In the distance, Connor could hear a faint cheer coming from the direction of the football field.
He looked over at Sam, whose face was stony.
When Connor spoke, he kept his eyes trained ahead. “It was fucked-up back then. What Blake did.”
Beside him, Sam shrugged. “Apparently, it was the highlight of senior year. People couldn’t stop talking about it.”
Connor had heard the jokes, filtered through his old school connections. The most disturbing thing was that no one acknowledged Sam as the victim of a malicious prank. If it had been a girl, a straight kid even, the conversation would never have been about how much they must have enjoyed it.
“The guy’s an asshole.”
“Who also happens to be the first guy I ever kissed,” Sam said, attempting to sound flippant but falling flat.
Connor’s throat tightened. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
“It was like I became communal property.” Sam’s expression darkened. “Someone spread a rumor that I wanted to try it on with the entire team before graduation.”
Connor had never heard him like this, his voice hard and bitter.
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I figured out that I could just leave.”
“Which is what you did, right?”
Sam scowled. “Right. And now I’m here again, I remember what it’s like to walk around with a target on my back.”
“You’re not alone.” It slipped from Connor’s mouth without warning, so desperate was he to assuage Sam’s sense of isolation. With what—my own?
Sam stopped walking and looked up at him, his forehead furrowed in confusion. “Wait, what?”
Connor’s heart slammed in his chest. But he wasn’t a frightened teenager anymore.
He understood himself a little better now.
“Emo kid, bad attitude? Not the most original disguise.” He raked a hand through his hair.
“Seeing you at school, owning who you were... I couldn’t do it. I don’t know how the hell you did.”
Sam stared back at him, his eyes wide with disbelief. “I had no idea.”
“Yeah, well, neither did I for the longest time. I was pretty deep in denial.” For years, Connor had grappled against the world, ready to torch it and everyone who inhabited it, when it was just himself he couldn’t face.
“Are you... out?”
“No,” Connor admitted with a twinge of shame.
“Sometimes I think my mom has her suspicions, but my dad...” He exhaled slowly.
“My dad’s kind of big on the legacy thing.
I don’t think he’d survive the news that his only son isn’t going to marry some nice girl and pass on the family name to a squall of rug rats. ”
Sam tilted his head, his gaze softening. “You know, marriage, kids—they’re options now.”
Connor managed a half smile. “It would still break his heart.”
“I get it.”
They continued walking, and around them, the air filled with the ebb and flow of crickets chirping.
Connor felt a weight lift from his chest. It was as though they’d passed through a door, pulling back an invisible screen between them.
He didn’t realize telling Sam would come as such a crushing relief.
“What’s life like for us out there?” he asked. “From what I’ve seen, it looks amazing.”
Sam seemed to consider the question. “It is. And it isn’t. You still end up bringing the same messed-up version of yourself to the party.”
Connor gave a short laugh. “You’re not messed up.”
Sam’s mouth formed a flat line. “You have no idea.”
They cut across the street and turned into a small cul-de-sac filled with cookie-cutter houses. “Back then, at school,” Connor started, struggling to articulate the guilt that had plagued him for longer than he could admit. “I should have—”
Sam shook his head. “If you’re not ready, you’re not ready.” He came to a stop outside a tidy house with a redbrick veneer. On the lawn out front, a sprinkler hissed, spraying water in a slow-moving arc. “This is me.”
Connor nodded, not wanting their conversation to end. He thought of the solitary walk home to his empty apartment.
Sam stood looking at him with a curious expression. “Thanks for telling me. I’m not sure why, but that time seems a little less lonely somehow.” Then he smiled, wide and sweet, the heaviness slipping from his features.
Connor was overcome by a sudden urge to kiss him. He stepped back and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Thanks for coming out tonight,” he said quickly, attempting to cover his embarrassment.
Sam cocked an eyebrow. “That was all you.”
Connor grinned. “Touché.”
“Have a good night, Connor.”
“Night.”
Sam turned and walked up the path that led to the front door. Connor remained standing on the sidewalk. He waited until the door closed behind Sam, and only then was he able to tear himself away.