Chapter 50
ISAK
Lachlan loves me.
I float toward the cast party, anchored by Lachlan’s hand in mine. “Say it again,” I whisper as we open the back door to the little theater.
He tilts his head to the side, then nods. “I love you,” he murmurs into my ear. Then bites it.
I laugh and kiss him. I’m on the biggest high of my life.
Tonight’s performance was phenomenal. Lachlan was on fire, and him kissing me passionately in public was the stuff of my dreams.
Yes, we’re going to have to deal with his uncle. That thought makes me shudder, and I push it off to the side.
He loves me.
“I’ve always had such a crush on you,” I blurt. “I can’t believe you’re really mine.”
“I’m yours, and you’re all mine.”
He holds my hand firmly as we stride into the party. Pretty much everyone is there already. Most people are out of their costumes and back into street clothes, although many are still wearing stage makeup.
Everyone claps when we walk in. Despite the shit with Lachlan’s uncle, I can’t help my oversized smile.
“Forest! Billy!” someone yells.
“Good job!” someone else says.
Then they all seem to notice how we’re not letting go of each other.
“Wait, is this official now?” Zanita shrieks.
I look at Lachlan. He nods and kisses me on my temple in front of everyone. “We’re boyfriends,” he confirms.
And there’s an even bigger cheer.
“Oh my god!” Jody yells. “Awesome!”
Despite the friends and fellow actors coming over to hug and dish, I don’t let go of Lachlan’s hand. It’s a lifeline. I’m not sure if he’s a lifeline for me or I’m one for him. It doesn’t matter. We’re here for each other.
We all chatter about the show, Monday-morning quarterbacking it, which is an ironic term, since we have the real quarterback here with us.
My phone pings.
An Ad/VICE post from Becky Hansen is trending: “Royce Actors Are Real-Life Gay Lovers.”
“Shit,” I say, showing Lachlan the screen. “I was worried that she couldn’t leave me alone, but now she had to bring you into this?”
His face is still as we read the post. It’s chatty, linking to her previous viral post about me (thanks so much) and saying that I’m gay and dating the quarterback, who no one realized was also gay.
“Bi erasure sucks,” Lach says once we’ve both finished and looked up at one another.
I playfully widen my eyes. “That’s what’s bothering you?”
He nods. “I mean, I’m gay, that’s true, but you’re not.”
I burst out laughing. Then I bite the inside of my cheek.
“What?” Lachlan asks.
“I’m pissed, because I’ve been saying her words in my head for the past two years—but her opinion of me doesn’t matter. She doesn’t know my life. And I don’t care what she thinks of me.”
Lach gives me a high five. “Fuck her. She didn’t get in the arena and get bloodied and dare greatly.”
“Exactly.”
I sigh. “Why did I give her so much of my mental energy for so long?”
“Because she hurt you.”
“Yeah. She did.”
I reread the post, then shut my phone off. “Can I burn her in effigy or something?”
“Or I could make you forget she ever existed,” Lach murmurs.
“I like that idea,” I say quickly.
“Plus,” he says, “listen to everyone around here. They’re the ones who know what it feels like to go onstage and act, sing, and dance their hearts out. Don’t listen to a critic who hasn’t ever done it herself.”
“Sound advice.” I squeeze his hand lightly.
We gather around for a late dinner. Everyone brought a potluck dish to share, and Ms. Laurent ordered pizza and salad to round things out. I finally release Lach’s hand to eat, though we stay within a few feet of each other at all times.
Ms. Laurent says a few words about each member of the cast and crew, telling us how proud she is of all of us.
When she turns to Lachlan and me, she rolls her eyes and smiles. “I didn’t realize we were running a matchmaking service. But you two were wonderful in your roles. Truly iconic performances. I hope you consider acting in college or wherever your dreams take you.”
“Thanks,” I mumble. Lach throws an arm over my shoulder and draws me to him.
As the moments tick by, Lach relaxes more and more as he realizes that for the theater kids, our relationship is no big deal.
After the pizza boxes and most of the potluck dishes are empty and we’ve demolished a huge cake from Costco, Zanita announces, “Time for paper plate awards!”
“What are those?” Lach asks me quietly.
“They make up awards and draw them on paper plates,” I explain. “Like ‘Most Likely to Give a Helping Hand,’ or ‘Most Likely to Be Early to Rehearsal.’ Those kinds of things. They’re fun.”
I receive the “Everyone’s Twin” award, which, Zanita explains, is for being most likely to have my wardrobe copied by the entire company.
Lachlan gets “Most Likely to Sing While Throwing a Touchdown.”
We cuddle while everyone’s awards are announced, and it’s like the world is whole. When the party winds down, we all help clean up, and Ms. Laurent gets us to promise to return late next week to strike the set.
Lach and I walk to my truck hand in hand. We get into the cab, and I look at him. “We did it.”
“Yeah,” he says, sounding somewhat blue. “We did.”
“Hey, there’s always a comedown after the high of performing. But—words I never thought I’d get to say—we still have prom to look forward to.” It’s in two weeks.
“Yeah, true.”
“Graduation won’t be too long after that. I know you’ve been counting down the days until college. We can spend a lot of time together this summer. And then we’ll be in the same city for college, even if I’m commuting.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” He sighs. “I’m worried about what my uncle is going to do when I come out to him.”
“Me, too,” I admit. “Want me to come with you to talk to him?”
He pauses. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s gone to bed. It’s pretty late.”
“We can play it by ear,” I say.
When we’re almost home, I say, “I appreciate you coming out to everyone at the party, but you’re still driving this boat. We can go at your speed with anyone else.”
“And I appreciate you saying that,” Lach says. “But I don’t want to hold back anymore. I’m proud of being with you, and I want everyone to know that we’re together.”
“Okay, same,” I whisper. “But it’s an option if you change your mind.”
I park in my driveway. His house has the porch light on and a light in the living room, but it doesn’t seem like anyone’s moving around in there.
I lean over and kiss him. “All right. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”
“Yeah.”
When I walk into my house, Mom’s waiting for me. She’s changed from the outfit she wore to the show into leggings and an oversized Guns N’ Roses shirt. “You were amazing, Schmoopy!”
“Thanks, Mom.” I glance over my shoulder at Lachlan’s house. “I’m worried about Lachlan. Do you think he’s going to be okay? With his uncle, I mean. He, um, said he wants to come out. To him. To everyone.”
“Wow, that’s a huge step,” Mom says. “I hope it goes well, but I don’t honestly know what to predict.”
I’m still in most of my makeup. “I’m going to take a shower and then check in on him.”
“Sounds good.”
The warm water feels good, getting off all the makeup and grime from the theater, and I pull on a clean T-shirt and my UCSB sweats. I’m in the hallway when I hear from across the way, “How dare you disrespect me like that? You fucking queer.”
I wince.
But I’m not ignoring the shouting anymore.
Lachlan is my business.
I shove on shoes and grab my cell phone.
“Isak?” Mom comes out of her room, her eyebrows drawn together. “What are you doing?”
“Going to Lachlan’s.”
She opens her mouth, then closes it. Then opens it again.
I shake my head. “Don’t try to talk me out of it. He’s my boyfriend.”
After a second, Mom nods curtly, then starts putting on her shoes. “Give me a moment.”
“You know where to find me.” I race out the front door.
More lights are now on at Lachlan’s house, and I can see his uncle standing on the far side of the living room, squaring off against Lach, who is a few feet away from him.
Norm, his gray hair disheveled and his face bright red, is spitting obscenities.
Lach is standing still, chin up, mouth set, hands in fists but at his sides.
Kylene is tugging on Norm’s arm and screaming at him, her face pink.
I tear open their front door. It’s a good thing Lachlan didn’t lock it when he came home, because I’d probably have kicked it in. “Hey,” I shout. “Stop yelling at him!”
Yes, I realize the irony of yelling at Norm for yelling at my boyfriend, but it’s the first thing that came to mind. With his uncle, a measured tone wouldn’t work.
Adrenaline rushes through me. My senses are heightened, but I don’t know what to do. My feet feel rooted to the ground.
Lachlan looks at me, his hair wet, his eyes red. “Baby,” he says.
Norm smacks him across the face and calls him a slur. Lach takes a step back, his palm going to where Norm struck him.
“No!” I yell. My feet unstick, so I stalk closer. “Don’t hit him!”
“Isak, stay back,” Lach grits out. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I’m not leaving you alone.”
Lach gives me a complicated look—concerned for my safety, but perhaps grateful as well. At least I hope that’s what I see.
I take a few more steps toward Norm, realizing he reeks of booze. He’s wobbly on his feet.
Norm leans over, getting in Lach’s face, spitting out something incomprehensible.
Lachlan stares at him, upright, determined. Defiant. “I’m not turning into you,” he says like he’s swearing an oath.
“Be a fucking man,” Norm says, shoving Lach’s shoulder and putting his nose close to Lachlan’s. “Fight me, you coward.”
Lach glowers at him. “Why? There’s no point. Can’t you just let me be? My sexuality isn’t hurting you—”
Pulling back, Norm slaps him again, whipping Lach’s face to the side. “You’re a disgrace.”
“Don’t hit him!” Kylene cries, and Norm turns and backhands her to the floor, where she lies in a heap.
“Don’t hit my mother, you fucking monster,” Lach growls, stepping forward.
I don’t want Lach hitting Norm. It’s so important to him not to be violent.
I race between the two of them, holding out my hands. “Stop!” I order Norm. “Get your fucking hands off my boyfriend.”
Lachlan’s eyes go wide as he hisses, “Isak, get out of here!”
“No. I’m not leaving you to fight him by yourself,” I grit out. Working together, we push Norm back toward the couch and sitting area.
Norm fumbles around on the coffee table and comes up holding a small bronze figure of a man on a horse. With a roar, he bashes Lachlan in the forehead with it.
“No!” I scream, lunging for my boyfriend.
Lach stumbles back, bleeding, and Norm turns on me.
Oh, shit.
There’s a sudden shrill sound, and everyone freezes: Lach, with his hand to his forehead. Kylene on the floor, sobbing. Norm holding the figurine like he doesn’t know what he just did. Me, trying to get to Lachlan.
“I got all of that on video,” Mom says, holding her phone up. In her other hand I spot the whistle she keeps on her key chain. “And I’m calling the police.”