Chapter Twelve
Seth
The problem with lying is it always catches up with you. I wasn't stupid enough to think I could hide from Troy forever. The longer I pretended I wasn't Godofdiscord, the sooner I'd be caught—and the harder the truth would be to tell.
For now, he was my friend online and we were getting closer in person. If I told him the truth, I'd risk what we'd built. Troy didn't trust easily.
I sighed into a long sip of my caramel Frappuccino, whipped cream and sugar pretending they could gloss over my doubts.
Troy peered at me over the counter. Almost five, both of us killing time until close. “You sure you want to hang around? Seems boring,” he said.
I shrugged and leaned back in my hard plastic chair. “It could be worse,” I replied. “This isn’t so bad.”
I spun my phone between my fingers, my Discord app open. Brazen, even if Troy couldn’t see from where he sat. A paranoid shiver crawled up, urging me to tell him everything.
Tempting—but no.
No matter when I tell Troy, he'll feel betrayed.
I was stuck in an impossible situation and almost wished I didn't know Troy was the guy I'd been talking to online.
I was terrible for lying, but my intentions were good. Wasn’t that enough?
“So how is your art going?”
I was genuinely curious, but maybe if I took the conversation away from me, I wouldn’t feel so guilty. I could make up for being dishonest. If only for a little while.
Troy brightened, a light coming to his eyes and face. “Very well,” he said. “I submitted just this morning, actually. Do you want to see?”
I stood, stretched, and draped myself over the counter. Troy didn’t notice. The moment I’d stood, he’d buried his face in his phone. Now, he turned the screen to me, so I could see.
I delicately took the device, wincing a little at the cracked screen.
Like most people, I’d had my share of phone drops, but I’d never had to actually keep a broken phone for very long.
I carefully made the picture bigger. It was a beautiful piece, vaguely resembling a stream of snowflakes or stars, all different colors of metal.
The paint along the base was a dark black that lightened as it rose, exposing the different colors of metal.
It was beautiful—museum quality. And it must’ve taken forever for Troy to gather all that metal, to cut and twist it into all those intricate shapes.
He had real talent, impressive, underappreciated talent.
And while I knew that lots of people were talented and didn’t receive their due, it was different when it was someone I knew.
My chest ached. “This is gorgeous,” I muttered. “You should be proud.”
“You don’t have to say that just because we’re—uh, you know—friends. You can tell me. It’s just okay; I know.”
But as Troy said that, his face grew defensive, as if he was preparing himself for my inevitable pseudo-insult.
I shook my head and shrugged. “It’s gorgeous, and if you don’t win that contest, the judges have no taste. This is in the bag.”
Troy’s face lost some of its harshness. “You really think so?” he asked. “Damn. I thought it was okay. I mean, I didn’t have nearly as much time as I wanted to finish it.”
I arched an eyebrow and handed back his phone. “You should apply for a grant or a fellowship. I’m sure there are programs that would let you take—I don’t know—time off work to work on things like this.”
Troy rubbed the back of his neck. “That would be nice, but I doubt it’ll happen. I mean, I’ve looked into those sorts of things before. They’re super competitive. But that’s what I’m trying to do with this competition. I could use the cash.”
“Is it a lot?” I asked.
“A few thousand. It’s a lot for me.”
Right. A lot for him. Pocket change for me.
And it was awful that someone as talented as him wouldn’t already be famous.
I knew more than most, though. The art world was just as exclusive as anything else.
No matter how talented you were, it was often hard to break into.
There is a reason that most artists starve.
I knew so many talented people. How many of them would’ve just been like Troy?
Scraping ends together and hoping to win distant contests?
But Brandon was wealthy, or had been. Even if his wealthy parents had cut him off, Brandon hadn’t exactly begun from nothing.
Even if he’d wound up crowdfunding his first film, Brandon had still paid actors, writers, and artists to start the project from his father’s money.
He’d still bought cameras, make-up, costumes, and props from his father’s money.
And it was only toward the end that Brandon had been thrown to the sharks.
And here I was with my acting that I just threw around as a hobby. Was it possible to have art envy? Because I definitely had it now. Troy deserved to have time for his art so much more than me.
“Someday, you’re really going to be something,” I said. “Mark my words, Troy. I’m never wrong about these things.”
He smirked and shoved his phone into his back pocket. “I have to close the register,” he said.
“Sure.” I paused. “Can I come over and see your artwork? I’m sure it’s more stunning in person.”
Troy paused. A nervous laugh bubbled from his throat. “I—um—I’m having some work done…in the apartment. I’d rather you not come over right now. It’s a mess.”
I pulled myself onto the counter and scuffed my shoe against the front of the desk. “I don’t mind. It can’t be that bad. I’m sure I’ve seen worse.”
After filming with Brandon in his train-wreck studio, nothing could faze me.
As long as Troy’s apartment wasn’t crawling with rats, or whatever, it was fine.
I wasn’t so sure the apartment was a mess either.
Maybe Troy didn’t feel inclined to elaborate on his apartment, but I knew from our conversations online that his apartment was crap with a terrible maintenance department.
But maybe he doesn’t want me to come over because he thinks I’ll judge him.
I felt a spark of guilt. I was lying to him. I really had no right to expect him to think better of me…than me. And sure, maybe Troy was lying to me, too. He had valid reasons. Less selfish reasons, at least.
“Maybe when all the work is finished,” he said, “Assuming I don’t move by then, I’m looking for a new place.”
Hopefully, he’d find one soon.
“Maybe I can help you look.”
Before Troy spoke, I knew he’d refuse.
“I’ll think about it,” Troy replied, pointedly opening the register.
Shorthand for not happening. I’d known Troy long enough to realize that if nothing else, but I nodded as if I believed him. I sat in silence while he counted out the bills in the register, his fingers going over the bills with an enviable speed.
$6,000 for the entire day. It seemed like such an absurdly small number for an auto shop to make. Troy put all the bills, save for about $500, in a plastic bag, and leaned over to complete the deposit slip.
I glanced out the glass window of the shop, watching as the cars streamed past. Only Troy’s Kawasaki Ninja and my Corvette sat outside.
“Done!” Troy declared, slamming the drawer closed. “We just have to run this to the bank. Don’t rob me, okay?”
I grinned and slipped from the counter. “I’ll try to resist the urge. Where to?”
“The bank first.”
I headed out, waiting as Troy locked the door. I rocked back on my heels, thinking of Troy and his magnificent artwork. I really did hope he’d win. He deserved to win. And that was probably the only way Troy would accept money, anyway. If he won it and then owned it.
“I’ll drive,” I said, cheerfully going over to the driver’s seat.
Troy shrugged and climbed in, looking at the interior as if he’d just stumbled into Narnia. He looked enchanted.
“To the bank, then,” I said.
I backed the car from the lot, glancing at Troy as he settled more comfortably into the passenger seat.
As I drove, I tried to sort through everything, all my conflicting emotions.
There was a tiny part of me that just wanted to sweep Troy off his feet and take care of everything.
I could be his wealthy boyfriend, cover his finances, and let him make art.
It was an unrealistic, childish dream; utterly stupid. But I’d known Troy—or online Troy—for so long, and I knew he deserved success so much more than I did.
“Yep,” Troy said. “United. Off Broad Street.”
I nodded. “I know where it is. It’s only been there for a century now.”
Troy snorted. “I thought you were about to tell me you kept your millions stashed there.”
“New York City, actually.”
Poor, independently-owned United Bank would probably collapse if I’d opened an account or needed a withdrawal. My family probably had more money than this town’s net worth. Well…more than the town budget, anyway.
“Do you spend a lot of time there?” Troy asked.
I shrugged. “Some. I like to move around, but most of my friends are here in Bluehaven. And it does have its charms. I don’t see half-naked guys pissing on the sidewalk. People are nicer. You know.”
Troy nodded. “I get that,” he said, sounding as though his thoughts were elsewhere.
I glanced at Troy, briefly. It was dark, and the streetlights had just come on. Troy’s cheekbones were highlighted in the orange light. He had an attractive face; a gorgeous face.
I tore my eyes reluctantly back to the road. It was strange how uncomfortable I felt sitting beside him. If I’d been honest, I knew I wouldn’t have been here. Troy probably would’ve ghosted me or if not that, he’d have just stopped talking to me…again.
“So where do you want to go tonight?” Troy asked.
“I assumed antiquing. Junk shopping. That’s your favorite thing, right?”
Troy chuckled. “We…always do that. Don’t you get bored?”
“I never get bored with you.”
Which brought me to another problem. Despite my attraction to him, Troy wasn’t out yet, and he might not be for a long time. I obviously had no intention to push him into anything. But…
I wondered if I was pushing him too hard just by showing up at his work and then insisting on hanging out with him so often.
Already, so many complications to our maybe-relationship. But I kept digging the problems deeper and deeper into a hole. I knew it was only a matter of time before this came back to bite me.