Chapter 15
Chapter
Fifteen
Logan
I really hate Ohio. Even more than Kentucky, but at least the food is good.
After tossing the trash from the fried Oreos I inhaled during the show, I walk alone toward the campsite with my head down. My feet scuff the dirt as I twist the wedding band on my finger repeatedly, lost in thought.
Music plays somewhere behind the rides, twangy and too upbeat for my sour mood.
Lights from the Ferris wheel blur at the edges of my vision and I pause briefly to watch it spin round and round.
Over and over. Day in, day out, the same rotation until it eventually breaks down and turns to rust, which seems to be a pretty accurate representation of my life, if you ask me.
I, too, am broken and falling apart. Put me out with the trash.
Salem’s avoiding me. She iced me out during the entire show. I noticed the way she ran to hide from me earlier, too, and I can’t say I blame her. I wouldn’t want to be in the same state as me, either.
“No, Taylor, our insurance doesn’t cover shooting you from a canon.
” Her loud, full-bodied laugh reaches my ears, sending a jolt of pleasure through my body and straight to my crotch.
I flick my gaze up ahead to find my wife smiling at Tay before they disappear behind a curtain of vendor tents with the rest of our group.
Her red hair catches the glow of a neon sign for all of two seconds before she vanishes again.
Out of reach like she’s always been.
My stomach twists bitterly as I mourn what I lost and what I never got to be.
I’m almost past the game stalls when someone calls out to me, “Hey, man. Yo!”
Seeking out the voice, I blink at a guy in a hoodie holding up a tiny plastic bag with a goldfish swimming inside.
“You want it?” he asks
My brows slam down. “Uh…What?”
“Won it like five minutes ago, but my girlfriend just dumped me. I’m allergic.”
All I can do is gape at him and then at the fish floating inside the bag because did he just say he's allergic?
The guy seems to get frustrated, shrugging as he huffs out a breath. “Look, if you don’t take it, I'll probably just flush the thing, so do you want it or—”
I snatch the bag from his fingers before he can even finish. “No. I'll, uh, keep it. I guess.”
“Thanks, man.” He claps my shoulder before disappearing into the night.
I'm left staring down at this tiny creature swimming in circles around the bag. Over and over. It stares back like it seriously hates the monotony of its life.
“Same, buddy,” I murmur because, apparently, I talk to fish now. “Same.”
Cradling it in both hands, I walk with no destination in mind, trying to ignore the part of me that’s genuinely stressed about keeping this creature alive.
Why did I say yes? What the hell do I know about fish?
Shit, we're going to need a tank. And food.
Maybe one of those miniature pirate ships where he can hide out. Goldfish like those, right?
I’m halfway through trying to come up with a name for the thing when I hear Christian shouting over the carnival rides, and I freeze.
It's not the ecstatic, adrenaline-fueled noise I've come to expect from him either. This is sharper—angrier—and it’s coming from the direction of our campsite. Up ahead, a crowd has started to form.
Setting down the fish, I push through the onlookers to find my entire group squaring off with an older guy in a baseball hat.
He’s smirking, arms crossed over his chest. Devon has Christian in his arms like he's holding him back while everyone else stands around them, looking ready to commit murder.
Both dirt bikes are on the ground. “Is there an issue here?”
“Yeah,” Christian snaps as he shakes out of Devon's hold. “This homophobic asshole needs to be kicked off the fairgrounds.”
Usually, I'd try and get to the bottom of things, but one glance at Huck’s face tells me this is serious. There’ve been a few shitty comments online about Salem’s new stunt, so I don’t hesitate to gesture toward the exit. “Sir, you need to leave.”
With a scoff, Baseball Cap squares his shoulders and looks me straight in the eye. “Fuck no. I paid for my ticket just like everyone else. This is a free country. I can voice my opinions if I want to.”
“Not here, you can't,” I tell him firmly, reaching for my wallet. “We don't argue over human rights. Take this refund and leave before I call security.”
Slapping a twenty-dollar bill against the guy's chest, I hold it there until he takes it. I’m seriously not in the mood tonight to deal with another rude stranger—first, the would-be fish killer, and now this asswipe. I'm over tonight already.
With another hateful slur, Baseball Cap crumples the money and storms off in a fury. A few people clap, giving me high-fives and pats on the back, but we all watch the bigot’s tattered ball cap until he's no longer in sight.
“What in the actual fuck just happened?” Christian growls, slowly moving to retrieve his bike from the ground.
Devon huffs a humorless laugh. “First time experiencing hate like that, I take it?”
All Christian does is stare, and Huck sighs heavily. “As sad as this sounds, assholes like that are a dime a dozen for people like us.”
Taylor flinches, shame flickering across saddened eyes as he gazes at his boyfriend. Probably remembering all the bullying he put Huck through in high school, which I still sometimes hold a grudge for.
“That's such fucking bullshit,” Christian spits. “Who I fuck isn't anyone's business. We're all adults. It shouldn't matter.”
I swallow hard, wanting to agree out loud but also too afraid to give parts of myself away—parts that I'm not ready to share. It shouldn't be anyone's business, honestly, and yet the world seems obsessed with what goes on in people's bedrooms and what's in their pants. Kind of sick, if you ask me.
Arya nuzzles into Christian's side. “We should do something. Like, show people we won't tolerate hate speech.”
“Agreed,” Taylor says, leading our group toward the RV. “I'm sick and tired of people harassing my boyfriend.”
“Yeah, I get enough of that from you,” Huck grins, squeezing Tay’s ass before turning to me with a nod. “Hey man, do you have the numbers from our last few shows?”
I frown, my head a swirling chaos of thought. “Numbers for what?”
“Revenue,” he clarifies, pushing curls out of his eyes. “Ticket sales, merch, sponsor payouts. Taylor said we might be in the negative after Illinois if we aren't careful.”
Shit. I forgot I was supposed to track all of that.
“I… haven’t looked yet,” I sheepishly admit, backing away.
Huck lifts a brow and watches me retreat. “We're good though, right? Like we’re not gonna have to cancel anything?”
“I’ll check tonight.” Spinning around, I run from the conversation like the piece of shit I am, heading for the RV.
Figures. Taylor invited me on this trip for one thing—the only thing I'm good for—and I can't even do that right. No wonder Salem wants nothing to do with me.
I find her standing by the cold fire pit, a pinched expression on her face. Deep in thought. Probably trying to figure out shit that I should be helping with, instead of slowly losing my mind and talking to goldfish—
Ah, shit. My fish.
Christian sidles up behind my wife and rests his chin on her shoulder. “Why so quiet, chica? What's going on?”
“Just thinking about what Arya said,” she answers slowly, rolling her lips in that cute way she does when she's problem-solving. “About doing something to show everyone where we stand. That we won't be bullied.”
“Yeah? Like what? You think we can make some kind of statement or something?”
Her grey eyes snap up as she grabs his arm excitedly. “Oh my god. That's it. Christian, you and Arya are geniuses.”
He tilts his head. “No shit?”
“Yeah!” A gorgeous grin pulls at her mouth, hitting me right in the gut—just like it does every time she aims it at someone who isn’t me. “Tomorrow is our last show in Ohio, and since Pride month just started… I know exactly what we're going to do.”
I don’t stick around to hear the idea, turning to make my way back toward the goldfish with my heart in my throat.
The second I reach the bench near the restrooms where I left him—uh, it—my chest eases just a little.
The fish is still there, swimming dizzy circles in its plastic universe, going nowhere fast. I'm not a complete fuck up.
“Hey, buddy,” I breathe, crouching down to stare into the water. “You still alive?”
The fish flutters a fin like it's reaching for help, but it doesn’t die. It just... exists pointlessly.
For some reason, that's enough to split my heart in half. I grab the bag, cradling it carefully to my chest.
“Yeah. Me, too.”
Me, too.