Chapter 13
ADRIAN
Istood frozen on the stage, my lips still burning from Jesse's kiss, watching him disappear into the crowd like he was running from a fire.
Which, I supposed, he was.
The taste of him lingered—coffee and mint and something desperate that made my chest ache.
Ten seconds. That's all it had been. Ten seconds of Jesse Miller grabbing my face like I was the only solid thing in a crumbling world, pressing his mouth to mine with a hunger that had been building for weeks.
Ten seconds that felt like a lifetime. Ten seconds that changed everything.
The auditorium had gone dead silent for exactly one heartbeat after Jesse bolted. Then it exploded.
"Holy shit, did that just happen?"
"Is someone recording this?"
"That's the kid from the protests, right? The religious one?"
"Oh my god, his parents are here somewhere—"
Phone screens lit up like stars across the darkened auditorium. The clicking and tapping of fingers on glass filled the air as two hundred people simultaneously uploaded the moment Jesse Miller's life imploded to every social media platform known to mankind.
I should move. I should get off this stage. But my legs felt like they were made of concrete, and every time I tried to form a coherent thought, my brain just replayed the moment Jesse's eyes had gone wide with terror, like he'd just realized what he'd done.
Like he'd just realized he'd destroyed everything.
"Mr. Costas." Professor Okonkwo's voice cut through the chaos, calm and professional as always. He stepped up beside me, positioning himself between me and the cameras. "Perhaps you'd like to take a moment to collect yourself?"
I turned to look at him, and something in his expression—not judgment, not shock, just quiet understanding—nearly undid me.
"He's going to be okay, right?" The words came out hoarse, barely audible above the crowd noise. "Professor, he's going to—"
"Ladies and gentlemen." Okonkwo's voice boomed across the auditorium, cutting off my panic.
"I think we can all agree that was a passionate defence of constitutional rights from both our debaters.
The right to freedom of expression, the right to love whom we choose—these are not abstract concepts but lived realities that deserve our respect, not our cameras. "
A few students actually looked ashamed and lowered their phones.
"Let's give our debaters time to collect themselves while we move on to our next pair. Ms. Waters and Mr. Rodriguez, you're up."
The man was smooth, I'd give him that. Acting like students making out on stage was a normal Tuesday occurrence in Constitutional Law debates. But I caught the concerned glance he shot my way, the almost imperceptible nod toward the side exit.
Right. Move. Get off stage. Stop standing here like a deer in headlights while Jesse's life burned down around him.
But Christ, my hands were shaking. Actually shaking. I shoved them in my pockets and tried to look like my world hadn't just tilted completely off its axis.
Jesse had kissed me.
Jesse—repressed, terrified, closeted Jesse who apologized for existing—had grabbed my face in front of two hundred people and kissed me like his life depended on it.
And then he'd looked at me like I was the devil himself and ran.
"Adrian."
I turned, still dazed, to see Rebecca pushing through the crowd toward the stage. Her face was streaked with tears, her carefully applied makeup running in dark tracks down her cheeks. She looked like she was barely holding herself together.
Behind her, I caught sight of two older figures near the back of the auditorium. A man in a dark suit with greying hair and a stern face that looked carved from stone. A woman in a modest dress, her hand pressed to her mouth, shaking her head slowly like she was trying to wake up from a nightmare.
Jesse's parents.
They'd seen everything.
Fuck. Fuck.
"Rebecca, I—" I started, but she was already climbing the side steps to the stage, her movements sharp and unsteady.
"You did this." Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through me like a blade. Up close, I could see she was trembling, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "You broke him."
"I didn't—he kissed me." The words sounded pathetic even to my own ears, defensive and hollow. "I wasn't expecting—"
"Don't." She stepped closer, and I could see the rage burning behind her tears.
"Don't you dare act like this was his choice.
You've been following him around for weeks.
Everyone's seen it. Following him around campus, cornering him in coffee shops, sitting next to him in the library, pushing and pushing until—"
She gestured helplessly toward where Jesse had disappeared, her voice breaking.
"Until this. Until you made him forget himself in front of everyone who matters to him."
I opened my mouth to argue, to defend myself, but the words died in my throat. Because she was right, wasn't she? I had been following him. Playing with him and his emotions. Pushing him toward this exact moment.
I just hadn't expected it to happen so publicly. So catastrophically.
"Rebecca, I know his family is Topeka Covenant, but—"
"But what? You thought because you knew he was gay it wouldn't matter?" She laughed bitterly. "Adrian, his father is David Miller. Elder David Miller. He's one of the church's inner circle, one of their most vocal leaders."
The blood drained from my face. I'd heard that name before, seen it in news articles about the church's most hateful protests.
"Jesse isn't just some member's kid who can quietly disappear," Rebecca continued. "He's the son of one of their most prominent leaders. The perfect poster child they've been holding up for years as proof that their methods work."
"What methods?"
Her face crumpled. "You really don't know the whole story, do you? You thought this was just about a closeted college kid being afraid of what his friends might think."
"I..." I swallowed hard. "I knew his family was conservative, but I didn't realize—"
"When Jesse was fourteen, his parents found gay porn on his computer.
Not much, just a few sites he'd visited when he thought no one would know.
They sent him away for eight months." Her voice got quieter, more broken.
"Conversion therapy. The kind where they don't let you sleep if you have 'impure thoughts.
' Where they make you write letters to God begging forgiveness for your 'abomination. '"
My stomach lurched. "Jesus Christ."
"They broke him down completely. And when he came back, he was different.
Perfect. The ideal Christian son who never stepped out of line, never questioned anything, never even looked at boys again.
" Tears were streaming down her face now.
"Everyone said they'd fixed him. His parents paraded him around as a success story. "
The pieces clicked together with horrible clarity. Jesse's rigid control, his constant anxiety, the way he flinched whenever anyone got too close. The careful way he spoke, like every word was being monitored.
"But he wasn't fixed," I said quietly.
"No. He just learned to hide it better. To bury it so deep that even he could almost believe it was gone." She wiped at her face with the back of her hand. "Almost."
"You knew," I realized. "You've known all along."
"Of course I knew. I've known Jesse since we were five years old, Adrian. I watched them break him when we were kids. I watched him come back hollow and scared and desperate to be perfect." Her voice turned bitter. "I've been watching him suffer in silence for years."
The accusation hit me like a physical blow. "Then why didn't you—why didn't either of you—"
"Because I've been trying to protect him," she said simply. "Jesse doesn't know this, but our parents have been planning our marriage since we were children. Perfect church families, perfect children, perfect union. And I was happy to go along with it."
I stared at her, trying to process this. "Even knowing he's gay?"
"Especially knowing he's gay." Her voice broke. "I thought—I thought if I married him, I could protect him. Give him a life where no one would question his sexuality. Where he could be safe, even if he couldn't be happy."
"Rebecca—"
"I've been in love with him since we were kids, Adrian. Not romantically, but I love him. He's my best friend, my family, the kindest person I've ever known. And I was willing to sacrifice my chance at real love if it meant keeping him safe from his parents, from the church, from all of it."
The weight of her confession hit me like a freight train. She'd been planning to sacrifice her entire life for him.
"Jesse doesn't know any of this," she continued. "He thinks our relationship is what his parents want, what God wants. He has no idea that I chose it. That I chose him, knowing exactly what I was giving up."
"And now?"
"Now you've ruined everything." Her voice rose, drawing stares from the remaining students in the auditorium. "He can't hide anymore. He can't pretend. And I can't protect him because you made him forget himself in front of the worst possible audience."
She was right. God, she was completely right.
"Do you have any idea what they'll do to him now?" Rebecca continued. "He's not fourteen anymore—they can't just ship him off quietly. This was public. Everyone saw it. His father's reputation, the church's reputation, it's all tied up in Jesse being their success story."
"So what will they do?"
"Make an example of him." Her voice was flat, defeated. "Prove that even their greatest success can fall to temptation if they're not vigilant. They'll say the liberal university corrupted him, that being away from their guidance made him vulnerable."
She paused, studying my face.
"They'll send him back. To the same place, the same people who 'fixed' him before. Except this time it won't be quiet. This time it'll be a public demonstration of their commitment to their beliefs."