Roar - Georgetown Book I - 1. Roar • Part I

In our age, there is no such thing as keeping out of politics. All issues are political issues…
George Orwell

Following his meeting with Hillary Clinton in late 2015, CJ wrote her a note expressing his gratitude for the interest in him and her faith in his ability to represent her U.S. Presidential campaign. He composed it on his laptop, reviewed and revised it several times, and had his dads read it over asking for their input. Once satisfied, he rewrote it by hand on good stationary, using one of César’s fountain pens, and mailed it to her Washington home.

He politely declined to take an active role at the moment, explaining he wanted to wait until after his eighteenth birthday in December when he would become an adult and be able to register to vote. The same day he posted the envelope, he called Robbie Mook―Clinton’s campaign manager―and explained his thought process to the young, gay man who had become a friend in such a short period.

“I disagree with your thinking, CJ. But I’ll respect your decision. Your contact info says your birthday’s the twenty-third. Does that mean I can expect a call from you on the twenty-fourth?” There was no doubt in CJ’s mind the man teased him.

“Funny, Robbie. Not a chance. We’re planning a ski trip for the week after my birthday and politics will be the furthest thing from my mind. I’ve never done it before, so I’ll be concentrating on not breaking any bones as I fly down a mountain instead of who our next President will be.”

“That’s one way of looking at it. Safety first while you’re on the slopes. Where are you going and is your boyfriend going with you?”

“Ummm, Colorado. And of course Ozzie’s going. The dads own a place out there I’ve never been to before. If things work out the way I want them to, it’ll be like a dozen of us. I’m inviting a few close friends to go with. The dads and my brother will be part of the trip too.”

“That sounds awesome, buddy. I won’t bother you again until next year then. But I expect us to talk in early January.”

“Fair enough.”

“And… I want your permission to add you to our list of surrogates on a tentative basis. What that means is you’ll be included in our e-mail blasts and receive the same information all the big-shots will be seeing.”

CJ realized he was being courted. By telling him he would be at the same level as VIP supporters, Robbie was stroking his ego. CJ had to admit it did feel good but vowed to remain firm in his decision.

“That’s fine, Robbie. But it doesn’t mean I agree to anything else right now. And please make sure if there’s anything I shouldn’t discuss in public, you let me know. I don’t want to screw up.”

“You got it. I’ll be spending most of my days in Brooklyn from now on but I’ll be visiting Washington frequently. Let me know if you make it up to New York City before December and I’ll buy you lunch for your birthday. Or we’ll get together when I go down to DC.”

December came and along with cooler temperatures brought a flurry of activities, each with a corresponding emotional reaction. The World AIDS Day event the GSA organized and he oversaw―in particular the display of segments of the AIDS Memorial Quilt―brought sadness and tears.

His acceptance by Georgetown University left him elated and wishing the next eight months to be over in a hurry so he could begin his freshman year at the Edmund Walsh School of Foreign Service. The trip to Colorado to celebrate his eighteenth birthday was everything he had hoped for and much more. CJ’s Squad―he’d come to accept the moniker originally uttered by his brother Ritchie―its numbers bolstered by his fathers and cousins, had spent a week playing in the snow. And on New Year’s Eve, CJ had publicly declared his love for his boyfriend.

• • •

Three weeks later, a winter storm forecasted to dump inordinate amounts of snow along the I-95 corridor caused schools in DC to close and brought the nation’s capital to a standstill a day before the flurries even started. At Owen’s suggestion, the guys decided to repeat the prior year’s trip and headed up to New York City early Friday morning.

CJ pocketed the credit card receipt the cab driver handed him and reached for the backpack between his legs in the foot well. When the taxi’s door was pulled open, he stared into a pair of bright, shimmering blue eyes. “Ajax!”

“Welcome back, CJ. Hey, guys.” The dark-haired doorman for the building on the corner of Lexington Avenue and Seventy-Sixth Street smiled when Owen, Chipper, and Ethan bumped fists with him. “You're all nuts, you know that?”

“And exactly why do you think so?” With the other guys trailing, CJ walked inside the lobby in search of warmth.

“Because we expect the storm to hit us tomorrow. You may be stuck inside most of the day.”

“Don’t worry about it, bud. We’ll find a way to keep ourselves occupied. Hey, Tank. This is Ajax Karalis. He’s our favorite doorman and a friend. Ajax, this is our buddy, Tanix Janda. Better known as Tank. It’s his first trip to the City.”

“Welcome to New York, Tank. Sorry about the weather. You may not get a lot of sightseeing in this weekend. But I hope you enjoy your stay anyway.”

“Thanks, man! I’m sure we’ll have a good time.”

Inside the apartment, CJ’s first stop was the kitchen. He made a list of what he felt they would need for the weekend and handed it to Chipper. “Dude, you and Ethan show Tank around while Ozzie and I head to Brooklyn, okay?”

“You’re meeting your friend today?”

“Yeah, Robbie suggested this afternoon would be best. On your way back from wherever you guys go, stop and pick up the shit on the list. Make sure you pay, okay? We’ll settle up later. I’ll text you after we’re done and then we’ll meet back here.”

He and Owen decided public transit would be too time consuming and instead hailed a taxi for the trek to Brooklyn. The wide, sun-lit space they encountered in the Clinton campaign headquarters was dotted with cubicles and colorful signs. The excited buzz of activity assailed their ears while the riot of colorful posters proclaiming support for the candidate had their eyes dancing, trying to take it all in.

“Hey, guys.” It took a few moments for Robbie Mook to greet them in the welcome area after the receptionist alerted him about the visitors. “So glad you’re here!”

“How are you, mate? Ready to get snowed in?” The Aussie shook hands with Clinton’s campaign manager while still glancing around the place.

“We’re closing down the office early and not opening again until after the storm. Lots of telecommuting on the horizon until then.” Robbie placed an arm around the shoulders of each guy and steered them towards the rear of the space. “Listen, I figured we’d have lunch in the conference room instead of going out. We have a tray of sandwiches from the corner deli.”

“That works for me.” CJ removed his knit cap, stuck it in a pocket of his overcoat, and then took off the garment. “A few less minutes outdoors sounds just right.”

Robbie introduced them to several campaign staffers and guided them to a conference room with windows facing the Manhattan skyline. He pointed to a long credenza with food piled on top. “Help yourselves and then take a seat. What can I get you guys to drink?”

“What are you having?” CJ picked a pickle spear and stuck it in his mouth before taking a plate and placing a pastrami sandwich on it.

“Dr. Brown’s Cream Soda but we also have regular ones, water, and some fruit juices.”

“I’ll take the same thing you’re having. What about you, Ozzie?”

“A Coke, please?”

“Be right back. Oh, and I have a couple of people joining us for lunch. I’ll let them know you’re here and ask them to come in and introduce themselves.”

The people Robbie wanted them to meet were part of the media group and gave the guys an overview of their plans. At one point in the discussion, there was a knock on the door frame and Hillary Clinton walked in the room. The visitors instinctively stood as she did.

“Sit down, please. Sit down. I’ll be heading home to hibernate in a little while but I wanted to say hello before I left. It’s good to see you again, CJ.”

“Same here, Mrs. Clinton. Once again, thank you for my birthday present. I’ve watched the first two seasons so far and I love it.”

“I had a feeling you would. The West Wing’s one of my favorite shows.” Secretary Clinton turned her attention to the tall blonde towering over her and extended a hand. “Hi. Hillary Clinton. I’ll take a wild guess and assume you’re the boyfriend I’ve heard about.”

“Owen Liston, and it’s a pleasure to meet you, Secretary Clinton.”

“So, I have a few minutes before I need to head out. What have you guys been talking about?”

Robbie was quick to respond. “We were telling CJ about the areas we’d like him to speak on. GLBT topics because he’s out to the world. Military affairs since one of his father’s a retired Marine and his late step-father was in the Air Force. And, because of his age, issues important to Millennials. Particularly the environment.”

“What about you, Owen?” Clinton had been nodding her head while her campaign manager outlined the plans for CJ. “Will you be making appearances on our behalf too?”

He took a quick glance at his boyfriend and received a slight wink. “I don’t think so, Madame Secretary. I’m an Australian citizen and have been in the United States for less than two years. But I’ll be by CJ’s side whenever appropriate. And since my interest’s environmental law, I’ll try to help whenever I can. But behind the scenes only.”

Robbie stared at the two young men momentarily. “Guys, we’ve used both your pictures in a few focus groups. The reaction has been quite positive. The two of you are handsome and appeal to both men and women and to all ages. We’re uncertain when or where, but if possible, we may want you to make joint appearances at a fundraising event or two. One other thing, CJ. We’d like to place your name on the list of delegates to the Democratic National Convention.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.” Robbie chuckled while CJ scrunched up his face. “We’re confident we’ll win the DC primary and we’d like you to be part of the slate. Your first election, buddy.”

CJ and Owen were the first to return to the apartment. They had enjoyed their late lunch with Robbie and during the evening, Owen would not stop talking about the role his boyfriend would be playing in the campaign. “Who would have thought this is where I’d end up the first time I said I wanted to study in the United States. Rubbing elbows with bloody celebrities and with one of those big shots as my boyfriend.”

• • •

On Valentine’s Day morning, CJ woke up before Owen as was the norm. After glancing out the window at the Chicago skyline, he walked to the bathroom, closed the door, and started the coffeemaker on the granite-top counter before taking a leak. Using the phone in there, he dialed room service and ordered a carafe of juice, a basket of baked goods, and a plate of sliced fruit. He’d stolen extra coffee pods and tea bags from the housekeeping cart the previous day, so he also requested a container of cream since Owen liked it in both his tea and his coffee.

Back in the room, he slipped on a pair of gym shorts and thumbed through his phone while he waited. The knock on the door was loud enough to make Owen stir but not awaken. CJ signed the receipt, charging the meal to their hotel room while the young server who delivered the tray stared at his hairy chest and CJ was certain licked her lips. It was time to wake up his boyfriend.

“Morning, Ozzie. Time to get up.” CJ leaned over the man, brushed away stray hairs from his forehead, and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. “You want tea or coffee this morning?”

“Tea, please. What time is it?”

“A little after eight. I ordered something from room service to tide us over until we meet the family for brunch.”

“When are we seeing them?” Owen was coming awake. He scooted back against the headboard and accepted a glass of juice and the painkillers CJ handed him. “Thanks for the pills. Two straight nights of drinking are enough for me. I’ll be staying sober for a long time.”

CJ’s laugh made the Aussie cringe; he definitely had a headache. “Yeah, right. That’s until the next wedding. Or until you go out after a rugby match with the team.”

“I hate you! How can you be so cheerful this early?”

“Because I didn’t drink half what you did last night. I can’t wait to see Randy and Ty this morning. Those two kept knocking back the tequila shots. I betcha they didn’t even have sex on their wedding night!”

“Neither did we!” Owen placed the empty glass on the bedside table and threw the covers aside. “I need to hit the bathroom!”

“Hurry back and we’ll make up for abstaining last night. I’ll give you something to remember during the flight back to Washington this afternoon. You can think of it as a Valentine’s Day present.”

• • •

“We have Americans without jobs because dark-skinned, funny-sounding people are being hired instead.” Fran Poulter spewed her vitriol while CJ watched the split screen and cringed. He forced himself to maintain his composure when what he wanted to do was reach through the monitor and throttle the notorious conservative. “Building a wall across our southern border and banning Muslims would be a good way to start taking our country back. And refusing to take in Syrian refugees makes perfect sense. Why should we allow potential terrorists in?”

Classes had ended on Friday and CJ had agreed to make appearances for the Clinton campaign during spring break. With Owen and Ritchie in school, he’d asked Bradley and Patrick if they wanted to go with him to the network’s Washington studio on Monday morning. Bradley had lacrosse practice early every day but Patrick jumped at the chance of seeing what he referred to as the magic of television in action.

“CJ? I’d guess Secretary Clinton might disagree with Ms. Poulter’s opinions?” MSNBC’s Thomas Roberts sat in the New York City studio while CJ was in Washington. Immigration policy wasn’t one of the areas Robbie Mook had mentioned they wanted CJ to concentrate on but he’d done a little reading the day before to get ready.

“Of course she would disagree. And so would most of our fellow citizens. What the Republican presidential candidates and Ms. Poulter propose goes against everything our country stands for. Although I realize there’ll always be bigots around we can’t stand by in silence and allow them to ruin our nation. Let me read you a newspaper quote I recently came across: ‘Last Sunday, thirty Syrian Arabs were landed at Castle Garden. This makes about 3,000 of these people who have thus far come in. Most of them are devoted to one of two industries—thieving and begging. It is time the bars were put up.’ This attitude―”

“That is the correct approach to dealing with the hordes of people Clinton and Obama want to set loose in our country!” Poulter’s interruption made CJ smile. Her ranting and raving appealed to fringe, right-wing elements but made her unpopular with more moderate Americans.

“If I may finish my comment…” CJ wanted to shout shut up bitch but knew he’d be dealing with her type in the coming months and this was good practice for him. “The quote’s from an 1888 writer in the Boston Journal. Xenophobia’s nothing new in our country. Bigots have been around for a long time.

“Our view of immigrants hasn’t always been enlightened. Our treatment of Irish and Italian people at the turn of the century or the shameful internment of Japanese-Americans during World War Two are blotches in our history. Secretary Clinton’s views are more in line with what the majority of Americans believe today. Our attitudes have evolved. Most of us embrace our diversity and acknowledge the crucial role played by those who have come to the United States from other countries.

“We live in an interconnected world. The smart ones amongst us have discarded obsolete approaches while dealing with those different from us. We acknowledge and cherish our multi-cultural society. It’s time we put aside our differences and accept the fact people who look like the three of us can benefit from associating with those of a different skin color, nationality, or religion. It’s not right we treat refugees as second class citizens. If we adopt the views Ms. Poulter has, our country will suffer. And for the sake of our children, we must not allow that to happen.”

• • •

CJ did a second show the following day appearing on CBS This Morning. The remainder of the week he was at the gym every morning, hung out with the Squad, and cooked dinner for his dads and brother almost every night. On Friday, he granted one more interview but instead of wearing a coat and tie, he was barefoot and shirtless, sprawled out on the couch, wearing cotton gym shorts. It was a telephone interview with a Mexican radio network conducted in Spanish.

“Bruh! You ready?” Harley had flown to Wisconsin the previous Friday, spent a day at his grandparents’ dairy farm outside Oshkosh, and then ridden his motorcycle back to Washington.

“Almost…” CJ glanced up at his friend while lacing up his boots. He had traded vehicles with Owen and his boyfriend drove the Jeep to school leaving behind the 2008 red Harley-Davidson Fat Boy for CJ to use. He and Harley were spending the day riding. “You want anything to drink?”

“Nah, had a Mountain Dew right after texting you. I’m ready to go.”

“Great! Let me grab the brain bucket and we can get on the road.”

The guys rode across the Francis Scott Key Bridge into Virginia and then headed north on the George Washington Parkway. Instead of full ones, they wore half helmets, leaving their faces exposed to the sun and the wind. The feeling of freedom CJ experienced as they followed the road hugging the Potomac River shoreline was one of the reasons he loved riding a motorcycle. Leaning into a curve―man and machine performing as one―was something which couldn’t be experienced inside a metal cage. And that was what a car was most of the time: a prison trapping the driver inside and disconnecting him from his surroundings.

“I’ve never been here before. It looks kinda cool.” Harley stared at the wood-clad, barn-like structure as he retrieved two water bottles from a saddlebag and handed one to CJ.

“Are you serious? You’ve never been here? I can’t believe that!” CJ had allowed Harley to lead them while on the GW Parkway. The moderate speed the lanky skater set allowed them to experience the thrill of the ride without turning the landscape into a blur. Near the end, they’d switched position and CJ guided them to Wolf Trap National Park for the Performing Arts. “We’re gonna have to fix that.”

“Why did you want to stop if you’ve been here before?”

CJ tossed the empty water bottle to Harley and started walking towards the building. “Because whenever I’ve been with the dads, the place’s always full of cars and people. I wanted to look around and take pictures with it empty.”

“So when were you here last?”

“Last summer. We came in May to watch a live broadcast of A Prairie Home Companion. Do you know what that is?”

“Yeah, a show on public radio with some guy out of Minnesota. My grandparents listen to it all the time. He’s okay, I guess.”

“Dude! That’s Garrison Keillor. It’s like the longest running show in the US and it’s funny as shit. We need to start getting some culture in you, Harley.”

“Yeah, whatever. Can we go to lunch now? I’m getting hungry. Oh, and if we’re all going out to the movies tonight, I’m hanging out at your place the rest of the day. We can play pool and stuff but I’ll need to borrow a shirt after I shower.”

• • •

Owen still slept as CJ rolled out of bed, used the bathroom, and after slipping on a pair of boxers, headed upstairs in search of coffee. School was over and done with. He had his last exam the previous week and graduation from Walls would be on Tuesday. It was almost nine and he needed painkillers. The previous night he had gone out with Owen and most of his Scandals Rugby Football Club and he had more than his share of alcohol. The hangover was not too bad but he suspected he would be dragging his ass for a while.

Being a Sunday morning, CJ expected to have the house to himself for a few hours so he was surprised when he found his dads, Tom, JP, and Dragon nursing mugs of coffee watching the television screen on the first floor. “Morning. What are y’all doing up this early?” CJ’s voice was raspy due to his night of partying.

“Good morning, buddy. You look like shit.” César stood and walked towards the kitchen where his son was pouring himself coffee. “What time did you and Ozzie get home?”

“Not sure, Dad. It was late. We closed down the bar. Tank and a few of the other guys wanted to go to someone’s place and keep drinking but I’d had enough so we called an Uber. What’s going on? Why are you people so quiet? Did something happen? Is that why you’re all staring at the TV? ”

He walked behind his father when César motioned to follow, heading towards the front of the room where the older man took up his spot on the couch next to Brett once again. There was a box of tissues atop the coffee table and lots of them crumpled on the floor. CJ noticed all the men had moist eyes and Dragon’s were particularly red. The big black guy shook his head and dabbed at his face. “There was a shooting in Orlando last night, CJ. Some asshole walked into a gay nightclub and started firing. We don’t have a good idea of the number of people murdered. But they’re calling it the worst massacre in US history.”

CJ felt as if the air had been taken out of the room. He placed his mug on the table and sank to the floor; his back rested against the couch between his dads’ legs. “Fuck! Did they catch the bastard?”

“Fucker’s dead.” Brett’s words were clipped growls. “Cops stormed the place around five this morning and killed him.”

“Do we know who he is or why he did it?”

“What difference does it make?” Dragon was not his usual boisterous self. The tone struck CJ hard; Devon Jefferson was like his fathers and their other friends―someone who confronted problems and dealt with them. Right now he sounded defeated. “Remember you and I talking about going to bars? How they were a place the gay community could be itself and not be judged? It was fucking Latin Night! It’s the kind of night I would have loved to be in there. I… I… SHIT!”

“I’m sorry…” CJ didn’t know what else to say. When Dragon put his head down, covered his face with his hands, and started sobbing, he realized in some ways he could not relate to what they were feeling. He had been to a few gay bars in the past months―thanks to the fake ID Sean had given him as a present―but it was not the same. He did not have the same sense of belonging the older men experienced. His life was different. He felt the pain but most of all he was angry.

“As much as my fellow cops may disagree with me, these are the times I wish more people would carry concealed weapons.” Tom Kennedy, a District of Columbia Police Detective, wasn’t known for advocating violence and his statement took them all by surprise. “If assholes like this guy knew a few fags and dykes carried guns and could defend themselves, maybe this crap wouldn’t happen. I’m glad you own one now and you carry it around, CJ.”

Thiago was the first one to text. He wanted to know if CJ was awake and if he had seen the news. Before replying, he looked at his dads and the men he acknowledged as uncles; their shock and sadness made him realize he wanted his friends around him too. He texted Thiago back, inviting him to come over whenever he wanted. CJ suspected there wouldn’t be much going on this Sunday.

Deciding it was time to wake Owen up, CJ stood and returned to the kitchen to fix his boyfriend a cup of coffee. César’s phone rang at the same time his did. He listened to his dad greet Dr. Matt Calhoun―their friend and family physician―and invite him to come over to the house and bring his partner Dasan along. CJ at last answered his own phone. “Hey, Patrick.” Figuring out there were more people coming over, CJ started a fresh pot of coffee. “Yeah, your dads are here and I think they’ll be staying for a while. Turn on the news. Dragon’s also here and Doc and Dash are coming by too. So’s Thiago. Scoot over whenever you want to, we’ll be here. And let Brad know.”

His phone chirped again while he opened up the freezer in the pantry and retrieved a bag of bagels. It was Chipper, letting him know he was tagging along with Matt and Dasan. “Hey, dads, gonna go wake up Ozzie. I started a fresh pot and took bagels out to defrost. Chipper’s coming with Doc and Dash and Thiago will be here soon. Patrick called looking for Tom and JP. I told him to turn on the TV and then come over whenever he and Brad wanted to.”

“Dude, take out more bagels. Danno just texted us. He and Trip are on the way too. Do we need them to bring anything?” Brett looked sad when his eyes met CJ’s. He ran a hand over his short-cropped hair and sighed. CJ wasn’t used to seeing his tough Marine father looking so lost. So beaten.

“Yeah, tell them to stop somewhere and get cream cheese and a couple cartons of OJ. I think we’re gonna have a full house pretty soon. I’m going to go get Ozzie, okay?”

JP spoke before CJ reached the stairs. “Please ask him to text or e-mail his family. Even though they’ll hear this happened in Florida, they’re going to worry.”

As soon as he reached the basement, he heard Owen’s phone chime and grabbed it from the coffee table his boyfriend had dropped it on the previous evening. Walking into the bedroom, he put the mugs and phone on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed next to his sleeping man. Running a hand through the Aussie’s hair he tried to imagine someone walking into the bar they had been at the previous night and opening fire. It was too gruesome an image and he shook his head trying to dispel it. “Hey, babe. Time to wake up.” CJ used the remote control to turn on and mute the television set. The local station’s weekend anchors were at their desk, images from Orlando playing on a corner of the screen and a ticker running along the bottom repeating the news.

Owen ran a hand over his face and opened first one eye and then the other one. “G’day. What’s going on? You almost always let me sleep late on Sundays.” He shifted his gaze to the television screen and smirked. “Damn you’re turning into a junkie. Did you turn on the TV to get your fix of politics?”

“Not this morning. There… there was a shooting at a gay club in Orlando last night. Lots of injured people and quite a few dead.”

“WHAT?” Owen was definitely awake now. “What happened?”

“That’s as much as I know. Tom, JP and Dragon are upstairs with the dads. And the rest of their group’s coming over. Check your phone. You have a message and I think it’s from some of our friends. Thiago, Chipper, and the Kennedy brothers already called or texted and are also coming over.”

Owen reached for his phone and ran his finger over the screen to unlock it. “Two messages. Ethan and Tank. Wow! About the same from both. They want to know if I’m awake and suggest I turn on the news.”

“Text them back and tell them to come over if they want to. I’m going to jump in the shower and put on some clothes. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long morning.”

By the time CJ was done and opened the bathroom door Owen was lucid. He stepped into the shower stall as soon as CJ vacated the room. “Harley texted both of us. I sent him a message letting him know we were all getting together here.”

“Okay. I’m gonna wake up Ritchie.” He didn’t have to. When he walked upstairs he found his brother sitting at the breakfast bar next to Patrick, both of them with a Coke can in front of them.

“I’m sorry, CJ. I… I’m glad you’re safe.” The younger boy jumped off the stool as soon as his brother walked into the room. He wrapped his arms around CJ and wouldn’t let go.

“Hey, hey. I’m okay. We’re all fine. This shit was in Orlando.”

“Yeah, but what if it happened here? I mean, it could, you know?”

“True, but it could happen anywhere. It was a gay club in Florida last night but it could happen anywhere. Are you going to hide in the house from now on? Is that what you want me to do?”

Ritchie let go of his brother and stared into CJ’s eyes. “No… I’m… I’m just scared. Why do so many people hate gays?”

“I’m going back home to shower and change.” Patrick stood and spoke loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. “If anyone wants to join me, I’m going to church. Services are at ten.”

“I’ll go with you. But I need to shower and get dressed too,” Ritchie said.

“I’ll go with you guys. I’ll just throw on some jeans right before we leave.” Owen had walked upstairs wearing shorts and a polo shirt. “CJ?”

“I don’t think so, Ozzie. But you three go ahead. I’ll be here. I don’t want to leave the dads and we’re going to have a full house by the time you guys get back. I’m gonna slice some fruit and get the bagels ready to feed everyone.” He looked at his phone when it pinged again and saw a message from Robbie Mook telling him he might be asked to speak on behalf of the campaign and begging him to call as soon as possible.

• • •

Ethan slipped in between CJ and Owen and draped an arm around each of the men. “Alright, CJ, what the heck were you and your Dad arguing about before we left your place?” He glanced to the side and nodded toward the muscular blonde on the other side of Owen. “Tank and I heard you guys shouting at each other while we waited for the Uber. Are you in trouble?”

“Nah, it’s fine. It’s not the first time I get into a loud argument with one of the dads. And I betcha it won’t be the last.”

“Can I ask what the fight was about? I’ve never seen you argue with them.” Tank was the newest member of CJ’s Squad and had yet to spend significant time around César and Brett.

“The dads are cool, but now and then they get protective of their little boy, mate.” Owen squeezed CJ’s hand for a moment. “César didn’t want us coming out tonight.”

“But why?” Tank sounded surprised and confused. “The little I’ve seen of the two of them they always sound very supportive of whatever you want to do.”

The four men slowed down as they approached the crowd on Dupont Circle. A group of Muslim women had organized a candlelight vigil in memory of the Pulse shooting victims. “Thank you.” CJ accepted the plastic cup with a candle inside it and waited as the woman handed each of his friends one and then lit them. “They are supportive, Tank. But after those nasty comments on my old Twitter account, they’re always warning me to be extra careful.”

Owen took CJ’s hand once again and interlaced their fingers. “César’s concerned about safety tonight. He’s worried a bunch of Muslims organizing an event for a bunch of gay people could bring out the loonies.”

“Isn’t that why they bought you Lola? Are you carrying it tonight?” Tank had previously been introduced to the Sig Sauer p226 Brett had bought for his son and CJ had named Lola.

CJ had worn motorcycle boots, jeans, a t-shirt, and the new leather vest Danno and Trip had given him the day before as an early graduation present. “Yep.” He patted the vest where a small bulge could be seen if one looked close enough. “This has a built-in holster. Papa insisted I carry it when Robbie asked me to say a few words tonight on behalf of Secretary Clinton.”

“Nice vest!” Trip’s voice made the guys whirl around.

CJ smiled and gave the man a quick hug. “What you doing here, Trip?”

“My job.” Charles Beauregard Houston, III―Trip to his friends―was a reporter. “Covering the vigil by talking to participants. Your dads mentioned you might be speaking tonight. That still on?”

“I guess…” CJ was hesitant. “I’m supposed to meet someone from the campaign. They thought I’d be the right spokesperson tonight what with me being gay and some of these people having already seen me on TV. Dad wasn’t happy about it.”

All five men reached for their phones at the same time when they chirped. “Speak of the devil.” Trip chuckled as he read the text message. “César’s being his usual anal-retentive, thorough self. Take a look at who he sent this to. All the Elite and I’ll guess the other ones are the Squad.”

CJ shook his head and smiled. His dad wanted them all to remember the next day was meant to be a celebration and asked them not to let the massacre in Orlando mar Walls’ graduation ceremonies. The previous day had been a blur with so many friends sitting around the house talking and sometimes shedding tears. “Leave it to Dad to think ahead.”

A while later, as he stood with a microphone in hand, CJ estimated there were a few hundred people in the crowd. “Good evening. My name’s CJ Abelló and I’m here representing Hillary Clinton. On behalf of the secretary, I want to add her voice to ours as we mourn this horrible loss. She wants you to know her prayers are with us.” He paused as he tried to decide what else to say. “That’s my official statement. But as a gay man I have something else in mind I’d like to share.

“When a presidential candidate ignores the massacre victims in his tweet. When he instead pats himself on the back and claims he’s being congratulated for his remarks against terrorists. When the lieutenant governor of one of our largest states sends out a bible verse implying it was the victims’ fault they were killed because of their sexual orientation. When politicians keep trying to make us into second class citizens, it’s time we stand up and speak.

“Tonight, we eulogize. Tomorrow, we organize. For the fight is far from over. It may never be. But if we stand together, if we join our voices and speak as one, we can and will make a difference. So I urge you to go out and get involved. Go out and speak up. Go out and work for candidates who support us. Go out and be heard. Let the world know we’re not victims. And let them know we’re ready to fight back! We will not be cowed and we will not be silenced. ”

• • •

“I can get used to reading newspaper articles the day before they get published.” Brett thumbed through his phone, reading the message Trip had sent him and César. They were in bed and the bedroom door was open; they had heard CJ and Owen come home but had not talked to them.

“I know, right? Let’s talk about CJ. I may not have wanted him to go out tonight but I have to say our damn kid continues to impress me. He’s turning into one heck of a public speaker.” César sounded like the proud father he was.

“Yeah, but I’m pissed at him. He mentioned the tweets from those two assholes but never said their names outright.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the budding politician. He’s learning how to set the bridges on fire but not burn them down. And I think skipping their names was effective. It’s a way of not validating their comments.”

“That’s your fault he’s so careful choosing his words. You and your damn politeness.”

“Fuck you, Jarhead. He’s yours too. So you get some of the blame. I must say him not mentioning Trump by name surprised me at first. But the more I think about it, the more I believe it was the right choice.”

“No more surprising than when he sent that nice message to Rubio after the Senator dropped his presidential bid.”

“That, was masterful. After ripping Little Marco a new asshole on more than one occasion, he turns around and plays nice. But he was smart. Rubio may not be thrilled with losing to Trump and Cruz but he’ll remember that when he was down, CJ was nice to him. Our boy’s going to have an ally in the Senate if he ever needs one.”