Chapter 29
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
SAWYER
The next morning, I’m trying to coax some food into Preston when Mrs. Boyer waltzes into the dining room. She pauses to adjust the placement of a silver ornament on the white Christmas tree in the corner, then straightens one of the flower arrangements on the dining table before turning to us.
“Preston, so sorry we weren’t here to welcome you when you arrived yesterday.” She leans into him for air kisses on each cheek. “I trust you had a good flight?”
“Yes, Mom. It was fine.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Boyer.” I stand from my seat to let her give me an elbow-clasping hug and more air kisses. “How was the Christmas party you and Mr. Boyer went to last night?”
Mrs. Boyer waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, it was some half-baked thing. A waste of our time really, but Jim needed to be there for business. Tomorrow’s soiree, now that will be the real party.”
One of the house staff brings in a plate of breakfast and a cup of coffee for Mrs. Boyer as she takes her usual seat at one end of the table.
“Now, boys, what are your plans for the day?” she asks, taking a sip of her coffee. Her words and tone are friendly and cheerful, but something about her demeanor makes it sound flat.
I don’t answer right away, giving Preston room to take the lead, but when he shrinks in on himself, I jump in. “We’re going to my mom’s place a bit later. She’s working tomorrow, so today’s the only time we have to spend with her.”
“We?” Mrs. Boyer looks from me to Preston with a sharpness in her gaze.
“Uh, yes,” I say when Preston doesn’t respond. “Mom wanted me to bring Preston this year.”
“I see.”
And I wonder what exactly she sees. As far as I know, Mr. and Mrs. Boyer don’t know about me and Preston yet. Preston barely talks to them, and I certainly haven’t said anything. There’s no way she could know… could she?
Under the table, I nudge Preston’s knee, urging him to take control of the conversation. He’s spent the last several weeks gearing up for this moment, and now it’s finally here. His hand lands on my thigh, and I grip it, sending as much strength and courage as I can through the connection.
Preston tries to speak, but the only sound that comes out is a squeak. Mrs. Boyer cocks an eyebrow at him.
“Yes, Preston? Did you want to say something?”
Preston swallows and sucks in a deep breath. “I need to talk to you and Dad.”
Yes! That’s it, babe!
Mrs. Boyer narrows her eyes. “About what?”
“Uh, about…” He clears his throat, pulls himself up to his full height, and squeezes my hand so hard he might break some fingers. “About my future.” It doesn’t come out quite as solid as he might have liked, but it’s clear and he’s looking Mrs. Boyer directly in the eyes.
She sets down her coffee mug and folds her hands in her lap. “I see.”
And this time I know she definitely does.
“When would you like to speak with us?” she asks, her voice now decidedly frosty.
“N-now?” Preston shrinks back a fraction.
Mrs. Boyer turns her icy gaze to me. “And would you like to speak with Mr. Boyer and myself as well?”
“Oh, no—” I start to say. This is Preston’s show and besides, I don’t think Mr. and Mrs. Boyer would appreciate me barging in on what they would surely consider a private family matter.
But Preston cuts me off with a, “Yes, he does. We both do.”
Oh, shit. I hadn’t realized Preston wanted me in the room with him. I assumed I’d be waiting somewhere, ready to comfort him when he finished. But the way he’s gripping my hand now, sandwiched between both of his, the jaws of life couldn’t pry him away from me.
Mrs. Boyer’s eyes are so narrow, they’re practically slits. Her lips are tightly pursed and I’m sure if she exhales, the entire room will freeze.
“In that case, I’ll go see if your father is available.” She pushes away from the table and stands with so much grace and elegance I want to bow as she floats past. She’s halfway out the door when she pauses and calls over her shoulder. “Come along, boys.”
Preston and I scramble after her, our chairs scraping loudly against the floor. Preston almost trips over his feet but manages to stay upright only because he’s still clutching my hand.
We follow Mrs. Boyer down the hall toward Mr. Boyer’s office like two schoolboys being sent to the headmaster’s office. I feel like one too, heart racing and palms clammy, certain I’m going to be expelled.
The door to Mr. Boyer’s office stands open and Mrs. Boyer gives it a perfunctory knock.
“What is it? I’m busy,” comes the growled answer from inside.
“Jim, dear, your son would like a moment of your time.”
“Preston?” Mr. Boyer says, like he’s not sure who his son is. “What does he want?”
Mrs. Boyer steps to the side and ushers us in.
Mr. Boyer’s office looks like a cross between an old school library and some sort of homage to himself.
One wall is covered from floor to ceiling with books.
Another holds awards, trophies, and pictures of Mr. Boyer posing with important people.
He’s sitting in a leather-bound executive office chair, behind an absolute monstrosity of a desk.
He couldn’t look more intimidating if he tried.
Preston shrinks into me, but I nudge him forward. This is it. This is his moment to shine. He can’t back out now.
“Preston would like to speak with us about his future.”
Mr. Boyer scowls. “His future? What is there to talk about?”
Mrs. Boyer turns to Preston with raised eyebrows, but Preston seems to have lost his voice.
“Why don’t we all take a seat?” Mrs. Boyer gestures to the sitting area surrounding a large wood-burning fireplace. The dark brown leather couch, loveseat, and armchairs are all plush and oversized.
“Really, Yvette, I don’t have time for this.” Mr. Boyer makes to turn back to his work, but Mrs. Boyer stops him with a single word.
“Jim.”
Jesus Christ. If Mrs. Boyer said my name like that, I might shrivel up and die. As it is, Mr. Boyer looks annoyed, but he obediently stands and comes around the side of his desk.
“Please, let’s all sit.” Mrs. Boyer points me and Preston to the loveseat, while she arranges herself and her husband in the armchairs across from us.
A low wooden coffee table sits in between, and for some reason I feel better with it there. Not that things will turn physical—god, I hope not—but separation is good, some distance is good.
“Alright, let’s get this over with. Whatever it is, just spit it out.” Mr. Boyer sprawls in his armchair and Mrs. Boyer sits primly in hers.
Preston and I are huddled together on the loveseat. We couldn’t get any closer without him climbing into my lap. He’s still holding my hand like I’m the single lifeline keeping him from drowning.
Mrs. Boyer’s noticed, of course, and her eyes are zeroed in on our hands.
“Well?” Mr. Boyer calls out when no one speaks.
I try to poke Preston with my elbow, but he doesn’t react.
Mrs. Boyer seems to take pity on him, thank god. “Why don’t you start with that?” She nods to our hands.
Preston looks down like he hadn’t realized he was clutching me so tightly.
Then he glances up at me, fear shining from his eyes, pouring off him in waves.
I could do this for him, just say it and get it out there.
Preston and I are a couple. We love each other and we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together.
But I can’t do that. I can’t take this opportunity away from Preston.
He’s been so intent on having this conversation with his parents it wouldn’t be right for me to barge in and save the day.
I’ve always wanted to take care of him, to protect him, and right now, the best way for me to do that is to let him fight for himself.
I nod and whisper, “You can do it,” not caring if his parents can hear me.
“I love you,” Preston blurts out. Which isn’t exactly how I thought he’d broach the subject, but it seems to do that trick.
“What?” Mr. Boyer’s expression is mostly confused but I think I detect a hint of disgust.
“I love him.” Preston turns to his parents now. “I love Sawyer—romantically. I love him, and—and we have sex—”
“Oh god,” I mutter, squeezing my eyes shut.
“He’s my boyfriend, and we’re together. A couple.”
Mrs. Boyer hasn’t moved an inch, not a single muscle twitch, and I can’t tell whether that’s because she already knew, or if we’ve shocked her into paralysis.
Mr. Boyer, though, has no trouble expressing himself. “What?” He sits forward, one hand braced against the arm of the chair like he might launch himself at us. A flush inches rapidly up his neck, making his skin all mottled and splotchy. “Are you fucking with us? You and him?”
I recoil at the way he says “him” like I’m the most revolting thing in the world.
“Jim.”
“No, Yvette, Preston needs to explain himself. I get that you two are…” He waves vaguely at us. “… whatever. But he doesn’t bring anything to the table. He’s just some college drop-out.”
“I believe Sawyer is still enrolled in college,” Mrs. Boyer corrects him, but he’s beyond stopping at this point.
“Whatever. Doesn’t matter. What matters is he’s a nobody, a nothing. His name doesn’t open any doors. He barely has a family. What kind of advantage would he bring to the relationship?”
Every word Mr. Boyer utters feels like a sword straight through my gut. So it isn’t the gay thing he objects to. He couldn’t care less that I have a dick. He’s more concerned about what kind of political, social or business value I can lend to the Boyer family. Which is nothing—he’s right.
I was a scholarship kid at the prestigious high school, raised by a single mom. I man the front desk at a gym and I don’t even have an undergraduate degree. I don’t know any influential people. I don’t have connections in high places. I’m a nobody.
“Listen, you want to have a side piece, fine. Go ahead. But you need to have someone reasonable in public. Someone who you won’t be ashamed to stand next to.”
“No!” Preston roars as he jumps to his feet, surprising everyone in the room, including him. But he’s standing now, and he’s got no intention of sitting back down. He stomps his foot and shouts again, “No!”
Mrs. Boyer’s eyes are wide with shock. Mr. Boyer flies back into his chair. I feel like I’m bleeding out on the couch.
“You’re wrong. Sawyer’s not nothing. He’s everything!”