Chapter 38 Prep Work
Adam had stood beside his bed, swathed in pale, ghostly light, his left wrist streaming blood.
The wound had been jagged and ugly. Adam had seemed as surprised by it as did Matt, and kept wiping at the gash in his flesh as though he could stanch the flow, but managed only to smear himself with streaks of red.
Adam had not been the one to cut himself this time.
Matt had felt something wet and sticky in his hand, had looked down and seen that he was holding a bloody boxcutter. How could this be? He would sooner cut himself than Adam! Could not live without him.
Adam’s eyes had been so sad as he stood there dying. “He’s not worth it,” he had said.
“I never asked you to do this,” he had said, meaning to exact vengeance against Colton.
Matt had been frozen in place—as happens in dreams, the blade stuck in his hand, his fingers locked around it. He had strained to reach Adam and bind his wound but had been helpless to do so. Had ached to kiss his freckled nose and nuzzle him back to life but couldn’t.
Now, awake, his heart pounding, Matt struggled to process the emotions the dream had sparked: profound grief and guilt. Adam’s death had seemed so real that Matt’s mind still believed him gone. He had to talk himself out of calling Adam’s house just to hear his voice and know that he was safe.
The guilt, though, persisted long after Matt’s mind accepted that he had not slashed his boyfriend with a boxcutter, had not watched him die.
He had never told Adam about his plan for Colton’s takedown.
Had guessed that Adam—sweet, gentle soul that he was—would oppose it vehemently.
Anyone who chose to be a vegetarian out of concern for animals would never consent to harming a human, even a snake like Colton Langley.
And now here they were mere hours away from Colton’s reckoning, and Matt had no intention either of telling Adam his plans or of altering them. Colton would pay for his sins, and Adam would never learn of Matt’s role in it.
This was not just wishful thinking on Matt’s part. He had exacted a promise from all participants that they would carry that secret to their graves. They had dictated their own conditions. This was his.
William’s response had been scorching. “Let’s hope, dahling, that you do a better job of keeping this secret than you did with our clubhouse.”
5:09 a.m. Matt gave up on sleep. He paced his room while reviewing his checklist for the day. Then, he slipped on a hoodie and sweatpants and went outside.
He found his Jeep in the parking lot. Popped the hood and loosened a battery cable. Lowered the hood again.
He ran a quick lap around the campus, just to burn off nervous energy. Ran another. It was either that or wank, but would probably end up being both. He was wound tight.
6:25 a.m. Back in his room, sweaty from both the run and the ensuing wank—fast, furious, focused solely on release, Matt grabbed his towel and headed to the showers.
He strolled naked down the dorm’s hallway, as was his custom, his towel flung over his shoulder, dick swinging free, probably still dripping its snot, but he didn’t care.
Matt recognized Seth heading towards him in the gloom.
“Rumspringa!” Seth high-fived him.
Matt returned the gesture, loving this transformation in his friend.
Seth glanced down at Matt’s dick, grinning wickedly. “Someone’s been burping the worm!”
Matt grinned back. No shame. They were young and somewhat hung and full of cum.
Seth’s dick, Matt noted, showed no signs of recent palpitations.
“Tell me, brother, Matt said in a somber preacher voice, “are you mortifying the flesh regularly? Beating it into submission to the Spirit?”
“Yes, Father, I choke the chicken demon twice a week, wrangling him until he submits. And occasionally my girlfriend helps chastise my flesh. We follow the Apostle Paul’s directions and ‘greet one another with a holy kiss.’ We also ‘lay hands’ on each other as often as we can.”
“Remembering this,” Matt intoned solemnly, also quoting Paul, “that ‘whatsoever thou doest, doest it with Love!’”
“Amen!” Seth said. And they headed to the showers, laughing.
While lathering himself under the warm water, Matt thought of how wonderful the next school year would be.
Colton would be gone. Adam would be back, and the two of them would be roommates.
There’d be no need for wanking. They’d fuck like rabbits, and, provided they exercised caution, no one would be the wiser.
7:42 a.m. Matt, his hair still damp from the shower, stumbled into the cafeteria, seeking coffee—as if he weren’t already jangly.
It was SGA election day. Colton was unopposed in his bid for re-election as president. The big race was between Matt and Mike Huebsch for vice.
(A few weeks earlier, Colton had shocked everyone by endorsing Matt. The announcement had rattled Huebsch, sapping his confidence. He had sleepwalked through his campaign, acting as if Matt’s victory was inevitable, which it probably was, considering Huebsch had as much charm as a badger.)
The halls were plastered with posterboard signs, not just Matt’s and Huebsch’s, but all the other candidates as well. Kids were already casting ballots at the folding table/voting booth.
Matt joined Ava at a quiet corner table.
“You look like crap,” Ava remarked. She was picking blueberries out of her muffin and piling them neatly to the side. This was normal breakfast behavior for her. She loved blueberry muffins—sans the fruit itself. It was a texture thing, she said.
Matt smiled. He and Ava had long ago met their obligations in the fake boyfriend/fake girlfriend—mutual beard department—and had settled into a comfortable friendship.
He scooped up her discarded blueberries, dropped them into his coffee, where they bobbed like drowned bugs. He took a big gulp. This was normal breakfast behavior for him, too.
“I didn’t sleep well,” he said.
Ava leaned close. Her long, shiny black hair draped forward, framing her face. She rested a hand on Matt’s.
He almost jerked his hand free. They had never touched, not even a friendly hug—by mutual agreement. Neither of them had wanted to actively deceive people about the nature of their relationship.
“You don’t have to do this,” Ava whispered. “It’s not too late to call it off. The Langleys are rich and well-connected. You’re playing with fire.”
Matt shook his head. “Someone has to stop Colton before he gets real power.” Matt did not want to imagine a world where Colton was a state senator or, worse, governor, both of which were in the plans.
He withdrew his hand from Ava’s, then polished off his coffee. He fished his debit card out of his pocket and slid it to her.
“You’re still okay with providing my alibi?” he whispered.
Ava nodded grimly. “I think you’re making a mistake, and you’ve got Molly involved as well. But, yes, I’ve got your back. You and I will be at Olive Garden tonight celebrating your election win. You’ll have shrimp carbonara.”
“You know I hate seafood.”
Ava laughed. “It’s not like you’ll be eating it anyway, silly! Molly likes it and probably won’t have time to eat tonight. I’ll get the shrimp boxed for takeaway and leave it in her dorm room. I’ll keep the receipt in case you need it later. Let’s hope you don’t.”
Matt thanked her and headed off to class.
10:50 a.m. Matt joined the herd clomping to Chapel. Spring was in the air. The temperature was in the low 50’s and was expected to reach a high of 70 that afternoon. Kids smiled at him, wished him luck in the election. Everyone called him Mustang now.
He smiled back, doled out hugs and shoulder squeezes and thanked them for their support.
Paul was at the Chapel entrance, pacing. “You’re late,” he said. “I was worried something had gone wrong.”
“Not yet anyway,” Matt said. “The day is still young.”
He handed Paul the spare key to his Jeep. “Get this to William. He’ll meet you in the library at 3:00. Remind him to reconnect the battery cable. The wrench is under the driver’s seat. Don’t forget to meet Todd at 5:00. You two are on security detail tonight.”
Paul frowned. “I liked it better when you and William were friends. I don’t like being middleman between you two.”
Matt glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot but whispered all the same. “You mean you’re not up for being pivot man in a 3-way with William and me?”
Paul frowned. “I’m not sure what a pivot man does, but if that’s what it takes to get you and William in the same room and talking again, fine.”
“That’s the spirit!” Matt grinned. “And just so you know, the pivot man bottoms for one guy while topping the other. You could top, right?”
Paul was not in a joking mood. Never was, really, and had expressed his aversion to topping on more than one occasion. It was a texture issue, he said.
“Don’t forget what I’ve taught you about chess,” Paul said. “With the queen sacrifice you can’t seem too eager. That will spook your opponent.”
Matt nodded. “And just for the record, William and I are still friends. We’re just in a rough patch.”
“That’s not how it looks to me.”
2:07 p.m. From the privacy of his dorm room, Matt called the Habana Inn and asked to be connected to Vince’s room.
“Bella Bottoms speaking.”
“It’s me,” Matt said. “Just confirming that you’ll be in the north parking lot at 5:30.”
“That’s the plan, unless I have a wardrobe malfunction.”
Matt took that as a yes. “Okay, look for a ’92 blue Jetta. The driver will be wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, exactly what you would expect from a deeply closeted guy.”
“That sounds like half my exes,” Vince quipped. “Let’s hope there’s only one blue Jetta in the lot.”
Matt forged ahead. “The driver’s name is Jake. He’ll roll down his window and greet you. Take your time and chat him up. The narrative doesn’t work if you just walk outside and jump in his car.”
“Got it. Don’t be slutty with Jake the closet case.”