Chapter 36 #2
Like a runner on the final stretch of a marathon, he powers through polite farewells with Danny’s friends, getting a shoulder clap and a “Nice meeting you, man” from Patty; head nods from Scott and CJ; a half-hearted hug from Mal; a much more enthusiastic one from Jess; and a “You’re not a hugger, are you?
” from Emily, followed by a handshake and a wave.
None of them express any interest in seeing him again, and Sasha knows that if this were a test, he would have failed. He just doesn’t have enough energy left to care.
In the car, waiting for the air conditioning to kick on, Danny takes a deep breath. “Sasha—”
“I don’t want to talk,” Sasha says, and for once, Danny goes quiet.
*
With the help of a long shower, a headache pill, and some mindless scrolling on Russian social media, Sasha slowly starts to feel like a human again.
He’s calmer now, the quiet of the Hartmans’ guest room a welcome relief after all the noise at the beach, and his brain isn’t as crowded anymore, giving him the space he needs to think.
He’s decided that Danny’s probably right about Emily, that she won’t tell the others.
She hadn’t while he and Danny were off arguing, at least; and if she really had connected the dots when Danny woke him up, then Sasha suspects she’d also steered Jess and Mal away from their conversation about Danny’s love life on purpose.
But even if Emily doesn’t out them—and Sasha’s still uneasy about the fact that she could—Danny never should have confirmed anything to her.
And that’s what Sasha keeps coming back to, that Danny can’t seem to stop telling people about them: first Matt, then Allie, now Emily.
Always asking forgiveness instead of permission, swearing up and down that so-and-so won’t say a word, as if Sasha could ever be sure.
And now he has to carry this fear around like a second shadow, something he’ll always be looking at over his shoulder.
He’d known from the start he was taking a risk just by being with Danny, but he’d assumed Danny had enough to lose, too.
Instead, Danny’s treating their relationship like it’s a rubber ball he can juggle recklessly in the air, not something made of glass that could shatter at any moment and cut them into collateral ribbons.
How much longer is Sasha going to stand there in harm’s way, waiting for the worst to happen?
The thought ricochets through his brain, lightning-fast like the punch of his feet against the springboard, and he recoils.
He doesn’t want to break up with Danny—even imagining it feels like he’s missed his hands on the vault and slammed back-first onto the mat, crushing all the air out of his lungs.
But at the same time, he can’t ignore the danger that Danny’s putting him in every time he opens his mouth.
He doesn’t know how bad it could be. A small, nagging voice reminds Sasha that he still hasn’t told Danny about the news article he’d read on the morning he left Moscow—though he’d almost considered it, that night when Danny asked if anything was bothering him.
Maybe if Danny heard about the cells in Chechnya, he’d be a lot more careful.
But Sasha doesn’t want to talk to Danny about what’s happening in his country.
Partly because he doesn’t want to think about it, partly because he doesn’t want to answer the fifty million questions that would follow (starting with “What’s Chechnya?
”); but mostly because he knows Danny’s going to overreact again, the way he had when he’d heard about the boys’ practices at Round Lake.
And Sasha really doesn’t want to deal with that.
Besides, he shouldn’t need a reason for Danny to respect his decision to stay in the closet.
A soft knock pulls him out of his thoughts, and Danny’s voice drifts tentatively through the door. “Sash? Can we talk?”
There’s no point in putting it off, so Sasha tells him to come in.
“My dad’s outside grilling,” Danny says as he half-closes the door behind him, Buddy looking on mournfully from the hallway. “And my mom’s on the phone, so…” He hesitates, then gestures at the bed. “Can I sit?”
Sasha shifts over on the mattress and waits for Danny to speak. He doesn’t have anything new to say; he’s already made himself clear.
“You’re right.” Danny twists his hands in his lap, rubbing a thumb over his callouses. “I shouldn’t have told Emily. She gave me an out, and I could have taken it, but I didn’t, and that was my fault. I’m sorry.”
“She gave you an out?” Sasha echoes, unfamiliar with the phrase.
“Yeah. She basically said I could lie to her and act like nothing was happening, and she’d go along with it.
” Danny sighs. “I guess I just thought, like… she obviously knew, so I figured it’d be better to ask her, like, how she knew, but…
I should have just pretended I didn’t know what she was talking about. ”
Sasha mulls over Danny’s words. The explanation makes sense, sort of… but he can’t help wondering if there was a part of Danny that had just been desperate to tell someone. He’s not sure he wants to go digging for the answer to that question.
“Okay.” He locks eyes with Danny, needing him to see how serious he is. “You can’t do this again. Do you understand? You can’t. I don’t care who asks.”
“I won’t,” Danny says immediately. “I swear.”
“Because if you are telling people—” Sasha’s throat tightens, his jaw muscles burning. “I don’t think—I don’t think we—”
He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence, but it doesn’t matter. Judging by his stricken expression, Danny knows exactly what was left unsaid.
“Sash, I won’t. Please. Just don’t…” He reaches for Sasha’s hand, and Sasha has to fight the urge to pull away. “I don’t want to break up.”
“Me neither,” Sasha admits, surprised by how hoarse his voice sounds.
“Okay. So…” Danny goes somewhere else for a few seconds, his eyes downcast; then he swallows. “I won’t tell anyone again. I promise.”
All Sasha can think of is how easily Danny’s made and broken those promises before.
He doesn’t have any reason to trust that this time will be different—but he also doesn’t have another choice, not unless he’s willing to walk away.
And he isn’t, though there’s a yet he’s trying desperately to ignore.
“Thank you,” he says at last, hoping it never gets to that point.
They sit there, Danny squeezing Sasha’s hand tight and Sasha letting him, until Danny breaks the silence. “I don’t know if you feel like it, but my mom recorded America’s Got Talent, and we were thinking we’d watch it tonight? My dad’s making burgers, so we can just eat in front of the TV.”
Sasha had been planning to go to bed early, but Danny looks so hopeful, and he kind of does want to see more terrible American television.
Which is how he winds up on the Hartmans’ couch, feeling far too invested in the performance of a father-son acrobatic duo; but it’s not a bad way to end the day, and it’s better than dwelling on what happened at the beach.
Still, when Danny walks him back to his bedroom after and lingers in the doorway, Sasha hesitates. He’s not in the mood for one of Danny’s goodnight hugs, but he doesn’t know how to say that without hurting Danny.
Danny must have figured it out, though, because he leans forward and then stops, his eyes scanning Sasha’s. “Can I kiss you?”
Sasha nods. He couldn’t explain why a kiss seems easier right now, demanding less from him than a hug; he just feels relieved when Danny closes the distance between them, tucking a curl behind Sasha’s ear but otherwise not touching him.
It’s a short kiss, soft and warm like sheets out of the dryer, and Sasha tries to savor it even after Danny pulls back.
“Goodnight, Sasha.”
With one last look, Danny walks away, Buddy padding along behind him.