Chapter 17 The Sleepover
He came home.
It took twenty years, but Kent Fox finally came home to me.
I prayed for this moment. I pictured it so many times, thinking of all the ways my life would change, if he could just come home to me.
That I could give up my sham of a relationship with Sarah.
That I could finally unbury the boy I hid in the closet all those years ago.
But there was no escape from Trevor. No escape from his wrath.
He swore he’d kill Kent if I ever tried to live my truth, and I had no doubt he’d follow through on that threat. His hatred is that strong.
Knowing this—seeing the hurt written all over Kent's face as I took back what I gave willingly since his return—I couldn’t stop myself. I needed to make things right by him. Right by me. For the boys we once were. Maybe even for the men we might one day be.
“This is amazing, Gray!” Kent’s eyes were bigger than I'd ever seen them as he took in the sight of my tiny studio apartment. His awestruck expression would have made you think he was at Buckingham Palace or something. “This place is just so … you.”
“What does that mean?”
“It's adorable!” For some reason, he spun around in a circle, clasping his hands against his chest. “The random red-brick wall over there.” He pointed at the wall my bed was pushed up against before pointing at a “Hang in there, baby” poster I had hanging on the wall.
“The ridiculous unframed motivational quote posters.
Ugh. It's fucking adorable. And tiny.” He winked at me. “Just like you.”
I narrowed my eyes. “If that's a dig at the size of my manhood, I think we both know I've got a heck of a lot more than you.”
He cocked an eyebrow at me. “I've warned you about insulting my cock size.”
“You just made fun of mine! And do you have to be so vulgar? I really wish you wouldn't use words like that. You know He's always with us. He can hear.”
Kent snorted. I knew he didn't believe in God anymore, as was his right, but did he have to laugh in the face of the Almighty? It made me feel like God was going to send a bolt of lightning to strike us down.
“Is God in the room with us now?” Kent asked. Something about his smile made me think he was teasing, but I didn't understand the joke.
“I just told you, he's always here.”
He rolled his eyes. “If that's the case …” He turned and looked over his shoulder, calling out, “God, if my Dad's up there, you can tell him to go straight to Hell.”
My eyes bulged and my mouth fell open. Gosh.
“No. No more blasphemy, Kent. I've got a whole night planned, and I'm not going to see all that planning ruined by God smiting you in my living room.” I looked around the tiny studio-style apartment. “Well, in my only room, I guess, but you know what I mean.”
He groaned. “Fine. Can I go snooping?”
“Snooping?”
He nodded. “I want to look at everything. Can I go through your drawers? Oh! Can I look and see what's in the back of your closet?”
“I don't have a closet, Half-pint,” I said, pointing at a tall chest of drawers in the corner. “I keep my stuff in there.”
He scoffed like it was the dumbest thing he ever heard. “No gay man keeps his hanging clothes in a fucking chest of dra—” His eyes widened when he realized what he let slip. Gay.
I closed my eyes, trying to will the word out of existence, and when his hand touched mine—my God.
It felt like walking into the light, and the light was absolutely breathtaking.
I opened my eyes and looked at the boy I loved.
The man holding my entire heart in his palm.
Twenty years later, and still, each time I looked at him, I was blinded.
“But you think it,” I whispered. “You're always going to think of me that way. In your head I'm always going to be …”
Gay.
Why couldn't I say the word? It was just one syllable. Three little letters. Letters that haunted me all my life, twisting around inside me like they were laying down roots.
“Do you want me to answer that?” he asked, but he didn't ask unkindly.
It was like he was really asking, because he knew his answer was one I wouldn't want to hear.
I shook my head, then his thumb brushed back and forth across my cheek.
When I opened my eyes, he was smiling sympathetically, but I didn't need his sympathy.
“I'm so glad we're doing this,” I said, forcing a smile that was halfway true.
Half of me was overjoyed at having Kent all to myself for the whole night.
The other half was terrified of what might happen once the lights were off.
I only had a futon and a bed, and they were less than three feet away from each other.
We'd be sleeping so close I'd be able to hear every breath he took.
Earlier in the day, my girlfriend Sarah warned me I was tempting fate when I told her I was inviting him over, but I was a man of conviction, fully capable of controlling my penis.
This was about maintaining a healthy adult friendship, something I hadn't had in a really long time.
Someone outside the church. Someone normal.
Pulling away, he turned and wandered my apartment. He walked around the small living room, picking up every framed picture he could get his hands on, studying them like they were the most interesting photographs he'd ever seen.
I knew what he was doing. He was playing connect the dots with twenty years’ worth of memories he hadn’t been a part of. Creating a mental slideshow of my life without him.
It hadn't been much of a life at all.
I wondered if he’d be able to see through the smile I’d plastered across my face in each picture, never really meaning them.
He was staring at a photo of me and Sarah we took last year.
We'd traveled twenty miles west to Tallulah for the annual Muscadine Madness fair.
In the picture, her smile was wide and aimed at me, but my heart wasn't in it.
My heart was barely ever in it. I could see Kent's breath catch in his chest as he set the photo down and reached for … Oh, God. He was reaching for the one picture I couldn’t stand to look at too often.
I never left it upright, because it hurt too much to see.
A constant reminder of my life after Kent.
“Grayson,” he whispered, his voice sounding a little more cracked than usual.
The picture he was holding showed Sarah and me sitting on Momma and Daddy's porch steps.
She had her arms around my waist and her lips pressed right on mine.
It was the only kiss we shared in eight years.
That night, when we made it back to my apartment, I told Sarah we couldn't kiss again.
There weren't any tears at first. She looked just as relieved as I did.
We always knew we were in a mixed-orientation relationship; me being gay, her being a lesbian.
We were open and honest about it, but I think it was the first time we realized what we were giving up.
Happiness. Emotional fulfillment. Our truth.
We held each other through the hurt for over an hour, and with a parting side hug, she was on her way home by nine.
Kent set the photo down and took a deep breath. Gosh. I really hoped it didn't upset him. But I'd already been upsetting him. He had to see me at work every day, still feeling how he felt. How we both felt.
Kent Fox deserved better than me. All I ever did was let him down.
When he came home, I was scared he'd stick around and ruin the future I was planning, but the longer he stayed, the less that worry lingered.
I knew I hadn't always been fair to him.
I took so much more than I gave. But how could I resist?
How could I deny myself those scattered moments, knowing I'd never get the chance again?
I spent so long living in black and white, and then Kent came home and brought me a rainbow, lighting me up in glorious technicolor, just for him.
I had his heart, and I was holding on for dear life, but he had mine, too. He always had it.
“You said there would be surprises,” he said, spinning around on his heel to face me, holding his hand out expectantly. He was trying to force a smile, but I knew my Half-pint, and Half-pint was hurting.
“Are you okay?” I whispered, taking a step forward, but he just shook his head, smiling even wider.
“I was promised treats and gifts.”
I sighed, because I hated how easily he hid his hurt. He must have been doing it all his life. Fine. If Kent wanted to shift the subject, I'd go along with it.
“I don’t remember ever mentioning gifts. Just dinner and a night in,” I said. He took a few steps forward until we were chest to chest. Then he thumped my nose.
Son of a gun!
I hated when he did that. It stung like heck.
Before I had a chance to scold him, he raked his fingers through my hair, snickering as he cracked the gel I used to style my hair.
He told me once that he thought I looked really pretty with a lot of product, and it had been a staple on my bathroom counter ever since.
If it was good enough for Kent, it was good enough for anyone.
“That shit’s going to make you go bald one day,” he said. “Mark my words.”
“The last I heard, you didn’t mind my bald spot. I think you said something about me being perfect just the way I am.”
“Well, that doesn’t mean you need to expedite the process, for God’s sake. Now stop talking about your damn hair and give me my gift.”
“It’s not a gift,” I reminded him. On my way to the couch, I grabbed my laptop off the end of the bed.
Kent took a seat right in the middle. He probably did it on purpose, just so I had no other option than sitting beside him, but that was okay with me.
I took a seat and opened my laptop, bringing up YouTube.
The day before, I made a playlist. A selection of songs from our youth.
When I hit play, loud music echoed across the apartment, and I watched Kent’s entire face light up.