30. James
JAMES
Will’s camo-covered lips were right there. All I had to do was tip his head up a few degrees and . . . I pulled away. I couldn’t go through with this. Will was my boss, and I’d promised his dad I’d end things.
Plus, half the time he was portraying my fucking brother. Derek’s Travis was nothing more than a stereotype of rural masculinity, whereas Will embodied the part with uncanny specificity, capturing everything Travis said and did, plus everything he couldn’t. It was like watching a home movie.
When Will was acting, he was incandescent. Talk about screen presence. The shy boy who spent every waking moment trying to fade into the background couldn’t help but shine like a flare the moment Michelle yelled, “Action.”
Yes, he was acting—like my brother, no less—but I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the real Will, the Will a decade of collective hate had reduced to a shadow of his former self.
I’d never liked Derek, but I hated him most for denying Theo the chance to see his father again. Will’s portrayal of Travis was a gift, a monument to his life and sacrifice. Cutting him out and plugging Derek in was like touching up the Mona Lisa with fingerpaint.
Will wanted me, too—of that I was certain—but our whole relationship was built on a lie, and not just the fake-relationship lie, either. He didn’t know who I really was or that I was the one responsible for getting him fired.
No, I had to remain professional. This was all going to end in a month, and seeing that pen recorder in Tony’s hand was a painful reminder of that.
I’d stashed it where I thought Tony and the cleaning crew wouldn’t see it, but obviously, I’d fucked up, because now Tony was carting it around in his briefcase. Maybe that was a good thing, though.
The camera in Tony’s room wasn’t picking up shit. The only interesting thing I’d gotten so far was a Grindr hookup with some Middlebury student.
“You look like you could use a coffee,” I said, stepping away from the temptation of his painted lips.
Will’s gaze fell. “Yeah, that would be great.”
I returned a minute later with two coffees, and we sat on the stone wall watching the crew pack everything away.
Heather, the crane operator, came over in cutoff jeans and a white tank top, her mouth curved in a wide smile. “Hey, boys, come on, we’re going out for drinks. It’s Friday night, and thanks to your man here, we get to knock off early.”
Will looked down into his cup. “You guys go. I probably shouldn’t.”
Heather scowled. “Go put a wig on or something. No one’s gonna recognize you.”
“It’s not that—”
“Awesome. We’ll meet you at the Starlight in an hour, then. It’s right on Route 7. You can’t miss it.”
Heather was my favorite of the crew, and while she had a bit of a reputation as a bossy bitch, I kind of liked the way she had zero tolerance for Will’s constant hedging. She reminded me of Donna that way.
Will looked sexy as fuck all decked out in camo, so it was with reluctance that I said, “Go shower and change. We don’t have to stay long.”
I hadn’t been to the Starlight in years. It wasn’t technically a gay bar—those didn’t exist in Vermont—but it was as close as you could get. Did Kay still run karaoke every Friday and Saturday night?
“You’ll have more fun without me,” Will said.
“No, I won’t.” I leveled my gaze at him and winked, knowing full well I was playing with fire. I couldn’t help myself, though. Making Will blush was addictive as fuck.
“Fine. Jesus Christ.”
We walked into the bar an hour later. Heather and the other crew members were already there, gathered around a table littered with pitchers of beer and baskets of french fries and chicken strips. Up on the stage, in a little booth, sat a short, round woman wearing more makeup than Tammy Faye.
Kay looked exactly the same.
“Come here. There’s someone I want you to meet.” I grabbed Will’s hand and dragged him toward the stage. It was a ballsy move, introducing him to someone from my old life, but all Kay really knew about me was which songs I liked to sing and how much reverb I needed not to sound like complete shit.
I leaned on her booth. “Remember me?”
Her eyes searched my face for several seconds before she jumped up and almost knocked over her Diet Pepsi. “Honey, I thought you’d left us for good.” She came around and gave me a perfumed hug. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m in town on a job. This is my boyfriend, Will. Will, this is Kay, the best KJ in Vermont.”
Kay looked Will up and down, and for a terrifying moment, I thought she recognized him. Then she smiled. “He’s too handsome for you.”
“I know, right?” I draped my arm over Will’s shoulder. “Let’s hope he doesn’t catch on.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” Will held out his hand, but Kay was already pulling him into a hug. “He’s strong, too.” She squeezed his biceps as she pulled away.
She reached behind the booth and turned down the volume on the drunk couple butchering “Picture” by Kid Rock and Sheryl Crow. “I saw Michael the other day. I asked him about you, but he said you don’t keep in touch.”
“We don’t.” I shifted from one foot to the other. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. “Why don’t you go join the others?” I said to Will. “I’ll fetch us another pitcher.”
I waited until he was out of earshot, then leaned in and asked, “Can you do me a huge favor and skaraoke Will?”
Kay grinned. “What did you have in mind?”
“Something big, like Whitney or Celine.”
“Better do Celine. Paula just did Whitney.”
“Perfect! And can you secretly record him, too?”
“Oh, honey, you don’t want me to do it. I’ll get the back of his head, and my hands”—she held up arthritic, trembling hands—“shake too much. Let’s ask Megan.”
Kay called over Megan, a tall woman with curly black hair, and I asked her to do the honors. “We can’t let him know, though,” I stressed.
Five minutes later, I set a fresh pitcher of Budweiser in front of Will, who was cowering under Heather’s gushing praise.
“You’re the best thing about this whole movie,” she was saying, “and that goes for your father, too. I hope they’re paying you well.”
“They’re not.” The guy could not take a compliment.
“Diane overheard Michelle talking to your mother, and it sounds like they’re gonna use your takes for Ryan, too. Apparently, your dad isn’t the only one who does his best work when you’re around.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
Heather refilled his beer from the new pitcher. “Come to think of it, The Beautiful is just about the only movie Derek doesn’t suck ass in. Guess we know why.”
Will buried his face in his beer.
Heather would’ve kept on embarrassing him, but it was her turn to sing. The whole table got up to support her on the dance floor, and Will and I were left alone with a fresh order of mozzarella sticks.
“So, tell me about Michael,” Will said, pulling his hungry gaze away from the deep-fried cheese.
I had a feeling he wouldn’t let that go. “Just a guy I used to date.”
If Will was surprised by this revelation—I’d yet to officially disabuse him of the notion I was straight—he hid it well. “You do realize we’re not actually dating, right? You don’t have to protect my ego by downplaying the significance of your past relationships.”
I poured myself a beer. “I’m not. It wasn’t a big deal. I thought we were in love. He didn’t. End of story.”
Will pushed the mozzarella sticks out of arm’s reach. “How long were you two together?”
“Two or three years, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“Well, it took him six months to move out after we broke up. So, two years until I realized we were just roommates who fucked, and three years until we stopped being roommates who fucked.”
He winced and reached for his beer. “I bet you’re wrong.”
“About what?”
“I bet he loved you back. Some people just have a fucked-up way of showing it.”
That was true, though not for the reasons Will was thinking. Michael had actually been the more affectionate of the two of us. I just assumed his feelings ran deeper because mine did. I was raised on loud anger and quiet loyalty.
“There are things you don’t know about me. Things you wouldn’t like very much,” I said, grabbing a mozzarella stick from the basket and holding it up to Will’s mouth.
He grimaced, but took a bite, a long string of cheese stretching from his mouth to my fingertips. “Please tell me you got drunk one night and tried to kill someone. Right now, I’m the only one in the support group, and it’s exhausting always having to talk at meetings.”
I leaned in and pressed my forehead to his. “I wish everyone knew the real you, like I do. Of course, then you wouldn’t be the world’s best-kept secret anymore, and I’d have to wait in line all day just to get you to scrawl your name on a pair of underwear.”
He pulled back, and our eyes locked. That look—brows furrowed, mouth pursed—was the same one he wore right before jumping off the thirty-foot cliff into the quarry. He was going to kiss me.
“You’re a good friend,” I said, pulling him into a clumsy hug.
He hugged me back, but I didn’t miss the quiver in his voice when he said, “You, too.”
“Now, it’s time for some skaraoke!” Kay’s voice boomed through the speakers.
“If you’re not familiar with the term, it’s when we force some poor sap to sing a song they didn’t choose and probably hate.
According to his boyfriend, our next victim is extremely shy and is gonna need a lot of encouragement.
I’ve got a shot of whiskey ready, but you’re gonna have to do the rest. So, let’s give a big round of applause to Will. ”
Will’s face went chalk white. “You didn’t.”
I smirked. “Who, me?”
Before Will could murder me, the crew dragged him onto the stage, and Kay handed him a shot of whiskey and a microphone. The song title appeared on the monitor—“It’s All Coming Back to Me Now”—and Will rolled his eyes, his dark brows undulating like they were doing the wave at a Red Sox game.
I glanced over at Megan and was relieved to see she was already recording. I was going to be watching that eye roll on repeat.
Will knocked back the whiskey and rolled his shoulders like he was about to deadlift a Volkswagen. An eerie calm came over him, and the “I’m just a regular guy” glamour fell away.
The opening piano chords had half the crowd groaning and heading for the door. Power ballads, especially long ones, were only good for one thing—smoke breaks. But the moment he belted the first line, everyone sat the fuck back down.
Will didn’t ham it up or try to distract with humor. He just stood there and sang, letting his voice do all the heavy lifting. Even so, the crowd couldn’t take their eyes off him, and neither could I.
Like at the campfire, though, the performance ended too soon, and with it, Will’s confidence. Instead of basking in the raucous applause, he ducked his head and shuffled off the stage.
“What the fuck, Will?” Heather cupped his face. “You can sing?”
Through squished cheeks, he mumbled, “Everyone can sing.”
An older man with a neon blue cocktail laid a paint-stained hand on Will’s shoulder. “That was amazing. You should go on American Idol.”
“James,” Kay said into the mic for everyone to hear, “if you don’t marry that boy, I’m gonna.”
Later, after the adulation died down and the room was once again immersed in off-key versions of “Friends in Low Places” and “Sweet Caroline,” Will said, “This was what you meant earlier, wasn’t it, the thing I wouldn’t like very much? You make your friends embarrass themselves in public.”
I hated the way the word “friends” slipped off his lips, even though I’d put it there instead of my own lips. “You could never embarrass yourself,” I said, taking his hand under the table and giving it a gentle squeeze.