Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Evan
Monday morning, Danny called at seven thirty.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“Fine.”
“Evan.”
“I made coffee this morning. That counts for something.”
“That’s not the same as fine.” A pause. “When’s the last time you left your apartment?”
I looked around my living room and kitchen—blinds drawn, bags of cleaning supplies from yesterday’s delivery still sitting on the counter.
“I left on Saturday,” I said. “Went to the pool to swim laps.”
“And got photographed at the pool, which is why you haven’t left since.”
I didn’t answer.
“You can’t hide forever,” he said. “At some point you have to live your life.”
“I am living my life.”
“No, you’re existing. There’s a difference.” His voice softened. “Go to the grocery store today. Be a person for an hour. Please.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Evan—”
“I said I’ll think about it.”
After we hung up, I sat on my couch and stared at the wall. He was right. I knew he was right. I couldn’t stay inside forever. Eventually I’d have to leave, have to be visible, have to exist in the world as Evan Beckett instead of just a name attached to viral photographs.
Eventually.
But not today.
I sat down at my desk to check my email and immediately regretted it.
I’d received a Google Alert I’d set up days ago for any mention of my name online—one more system in the monitoring infrastructure I’d been building since the photos dropped, alongside the browser tabs I couldn’t stop checking.
I’d told myself I’d turn it off eventually, that monitoring every article was making things worse.
I hadn’t turned it off.
I clicked it.
It was a blog post. One of those “celebrity gossip” sites that pretended to be journalism. The headline made my stomach drop.
Inside Evan Beckett’s Life: Where to Spot Nicolás Briggs’s Boyfriend
I read it without moving, my sparkling water untouched beside me.
The blog featured photos pulled from friends’ old social media posts.
Photos I’d been in the background of, photos I hadn’t known existed, photos from barbecues and birthday dinners that had never been meant for anyone outside those rooms. Someone had gone through every tagged connection I had and scraped anything with my face in it.
But worse than the photos was the text.
Beckett, 32, lives in an upscale apartment building in Milpitas, just north of San Jose.
The modern high-rise offers views of the foothills and is popular with young professionals and tech workers.
He’s frequently spotted at a coffee shop on Calaveras Boulevard, where staff say he orders a caramel latte.
Mornings around eight seem to be his preferred coffee time…
They’d documented my routine, where I lived… The building was visible in the background of one photo. The address wasn’t listed but was obvious if you knew the area.
My hands started shaking.
Beckett runs his consulting business from home and is often seen working from the corner table at Café Beans, laptop open, earbuds in. According to neighbors, he keeps a low profile and is rarely seen at evening social events in the building…
According to neighbors.
Someone I lived near had talked to them. Given them information about my habits, my schedule, my life.
I left my desk and went to the window. Pulled back the blinds just enough to look outside.
The street looked normal. A couple walking a dog. A jogger passing by. A car pulling out of the garage across the street.
But now every person on the sidewalk felt like a potential threat. Every pedestrian could have a camera. Every neighbor who nodded to me in the hallway might have been the one who’d talked.
I let the blinds fall back into place and stepped back.
My phone chimed. A text from Nico.
Nico
Morning. How are you doing?
I looked at the message, then at my laptop still open on my desk, the blog post still visible on the screen.
Evan
Okay. Just working.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Nico
You sure? You can talk to me.
Evan
I’m fine. Have a good practice.
I set my phone down and sat in my desk chair, trying to breathe through the lump in my throat.
They knew where I lived, where I got coffee, what time I left my building. They’d documented my life in enough detail that anyone reading that blog post could find me.
And there was nothing I could do about it.
I stayed where I was for a while. The water got warm. I grabbed another bottle.
By noon I’d had enough of my own company.
Danny was right. Hiding wasn’t the same as being safe. It just felt like it. And I was running out of things in the refrigerator that weren’t past their expiration date.
I needed groceries. Produce and chicken I wanted to select myself, which required leaving my apartment and going to a store like a normal person.
I could do that.
I grabbed my phone and my wallet and left before I could talk myself out of it.
The grocery store was ten minutes away, and I spent the entire drive checking my rearview mirror. No one was following me. The street behind me was the usual, just other people going about their Monday afternoon.
See? Fine.
I parked, got a cart, went inside, and started in produce. Kept my head down. Moved quickly. Nobody looked at me twice.
I was in the cereal aisle when someone asked, “Excuse me?”
I turned.
A woman, maybe late thirties, holding a phone. Smiling.
“You’re Evan Beckett, right? Nicolás Briggs’s boyfriend?”
My throat closed.
“I—no. You have the wrong person.” Even as I said it, I knew she wouldn’t believe me. She’d already recognized me.
“No, I saw your picture online. There was an article about you this morning.” She stepped closer, still smiling. “I’m a huge Lasers fan. My son is gay and seeing Nicolás come out really meant a lot to him. It’s so important to have representation in sports.”
She kept talking. Something about her son, about visibility, about how brave Nico was. I couldn’t process any of it. Couldn’t focus past the rushing in my ears.
“Would you mind taking a quick photo with me?” She held up her phone. “My son would love it. He’s sixteen and he’s such a huge hockey fan, and seeing someone like Nicolás—”
“I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“It’ll just take a second—”
“I can’t.”
I turned and walked away. Left my cart in the middle of the aisle. Heard her say something behind me—confused, maybe disappointed—but I kept moving.
Through the aisles. Past the registers. Out the automatic doors into the parking lot.
I was halfway to my car when I heard footsteps behind me.
“Wait… hold on…”
I turned. She’d followed me outside.
“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” she said. “I just thought… my son would really love to meet you. Could we exchange numbers? Maybe you and Nicolás could meet him sometime, just for a few minutes—”
“No. I’m sorry. I can’t.”
“He’s a really good kid. He just came out last year and it’s been hard for him, and seeing Nicolás—”
“I understand. But I can’t help you.”
I got to my Tesla and grabbed for the handle, but my hands were shaking so badly I couldn’t get a grip on it. She was still talking, still following, and I could feel the panic rising, hot and tight and suffocating.
I finally got the door open. Climbed in. Locked it.
She stood outside my car, phone still in her hand, looking confused and hurt.
I put my foot on the brake to start the car and pulled out, watching her in my rearview mirror as I pulled away.
She’d been nice. Genuinely kind. Just a mother wanting to do something good for her son, a gay teenager who needed to see people like Nico living openly.
And I’d run from her like she’d threatened me.
The guilt settled heavy in my chest. She hadn’t deserved that. Her son hadn’t deserved that. But I couldn’t make my body understand the difference between kind attention and invasive attention. Both felt like losing control.
I made it home and threw the deadbolt behind me. Double-checked the lock. Triple-checked it.
Then I sat on my couch and tried to breathe.
I pulled out my phone and texted Danny.
Evan
I went to the grocery store.
Evan
Someone recognized me and followed me to my car.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Danny
Are you okay?
Evan
I don’t know.
Danny
I’m coming over.
Evan
You don’t have to.
Danny
I’m already leaving. I’ll be there in twenty.
I set my phone down and took in my apartment. This was supposed to be my safe space. The one place where I could exist without being watched, without being recognized, without being Nicolás Briggs’s boyfriend.
But they knew where I lived now. The blog post had made sure of that. And if one person could find me at the grocery store, others could too. It was only a matter of time before someone showed up at my building, or waited outside, or—
My phone buzzed again. Nico.
Nico
I’m free for a few minutes. Want me to call?
My hands were still shaking. My voice would give me away immediately.
Nico would hear the panic in it, and then he’d want to know what had happened.
I’d have to explain the blog post, the grocery store, and the woman who’d followed me.
I couldn’t do that right now. Not over the phone.
Not when I could barely hold it together.
Evan
Can’t talk right now. Maybe later?
Nico
Everything okay?
Evan
Yeah. Fine.
I put my phone face down on the coffee table and waited for Danny.
Danny arrived with Starbucks and a furrowed brow that meant he was assessing how worried to be.
“You look terrible,” he said, pressing a latte into my hands.
“Thanks.”
“Tell me what happened.”
So I did. The blog post with my routine documented in detail. The woman at the grocery store. The way she’d followed me to my car, asking for my number, wanting me to meet her son.
“She was nice,” I said. “That’s the thing. She was just a mom who wanted to do something good for her kid. And I still panicked.”
Danny was quiet for a moment. “That blog post. Did it give your address?”
“Not explicitly. But the building is visible in the photos. Anyone familiar with the area could figure it out.”
“Jesus, Evan.”
“Yeah.”