Between the Shadow and the Soul - 30. Birthday Bash Part 2 - The Shadow

February 3, 2017

By half past eight the party had blossomed into a crowd of at least a thousand people, some dancing, some dining, some lounging, some browsing the various displays, many fellowshipping, most drinking a social lubricant of one kind or another. With Nate's fingers still threaded with mine, I walked with him and Kyle and the rest of my VIP group to the small stage. That's where I left them nursing their drinks so I could grab the microphone and join the DJ on the dais.

I bumped him with my shoulder. Gabriel smiled, nodded. I smiled. Then I nodded. It was time.

The music slowly faded, Gabriel blushing as he watched me watch him. For one of the metroplex's most popular and in-demand DJs who also happened to be one helluva sexy man, he forever tickled me with his shy flirtations.

When the speakers fell silent, the constant murmur of voices in the ballroom began to die away, faces turning, eyes seeking. I suddenly felt self-conscious despite having done this every year since I turned eighteen. Though back then the size of the crowd didn't reach such intimidating proportions. Oh how the party had grown over the years.

"Your attention, please!" I thumped the microphone a few times, the drumming bass reverberating through the ballroom. Considering most were already staring at me, I felt a bit silly, but I wanted to ensure I had everyone's full attention.

After the last voice hushed and the last pair of eyes fell upon me, I stepped around the DJ equipment and stood at the edge of the stage.

"In years past my speeches at this annual event have been full of levity and anecdotes coupled with examples of what Silver Rain accomplished in the prior twelve months and what we planned to accomplish in the year ahead. I hope you'll bear with me this time around as I do something a little different."

My words sound shaky. Fuck, this is going to be more difficult than I imagined.

My eyes sought Nate's face and, upon discovering it, the support and love pouring from him washed over me. He was definitely in my head again and he was definitely aware I was embarking on a new path, even if he didn't know what direction that path would lead. I gave him a slight nod and a grateful smile to acknowledge his support and to thank him for it.

A wave of supportive voices washed across the ballroom to fill the unexpected pause, heads nodding, faces rapt and attentive.

Without prompting, the lights dimmed, the two large projection screens on the wall behind me came to life, and a warm spotlight wrapped me in its glow. I knew the screens in the adjoining ballroom would likewise come to life, showing the same things shown behind me with the added benefit of a picture-in-picture video of my speech.

Glancing at my friends and family standing at the front of the crowd, scanning each face as they watched me expectantly, I drew strength from them, from the knowledge that, though they didn't know what I intended to say, they would understand better than the thousand or more arrayed behind them.

Then I let my eyes wander the crowd, meeting gazes briefly, trying to make my words personal to each and every person in attendance.

"I was always close to my grandparents. Never you mind that having only one grandchild limited their options a bit." Chuckles erupted across the crowd. "Admittedly, only three were alive by the time I was old enough to understand who they were and to retain memories of them.

"Time, however, eventually takes everything from us. One by one my remaining grandparents passed away until only my paternal grandfather remained. With his health failing, I spent as much time with him as I could, having grown fond of the wrinkled, lively, unrepentant old codger." Titters and snickers followed that description.

"Well, as oft happens with rambunctious children, in the summer of my eighth year I broke my leg during a rather dangerous playground adventure. There might have been aliens involved. Or pirates. Maybe both." More chuckling, knowing nods and smiles abounded. "Thankfully Grandpa stepped up to the plate to help since I needed assistance and my parents had work."

As I spoke, the screens behind me showed a slowly changing menagerie of photographs of my grandparents, eventually narrowing to focus on Grandma and Grandpa Beaumont, then finally to just Grandpa Beaumont. Some of the photos came from his life before me and some came from his life after my birth, showing us often huddled together in gleeful laughter or embarking on some grand adventure or snuggled together on his sofa, photo albums spread across our laps, my face showing rapt attention as I fell under his spell once again, engrossed in his latest tale.

"Since my adventuring was seriously curtailed by a full-leg cast and crutches, I spent that first week doing nothing but sitting and listening to his stories. Oh let me tell you, friends of mine, my grandfather had all sorts of stories, like tales of battle from foreign wars and tales of a world vastly different from the one in which I was growing up and tales of family many generations removed." I swallowed a lump in my throat. "And, of course, tales of love."

I cleared my throat a few times, blinked repeatedly, smiled. "My grandmother, Grandpa Beaumont's wife, died before I was born, so I only knew her through his stories, through my parents and my aunt and uncle, and through the wondrous photo albums Grandpa would inevitably use as visual aids while his words weaved the tapestry of yet another enthralling narrative. Even at the ripe old age of eight, I never doubted the profound love that had existed between Grandma and Grandpa Beaumont, a love evident in the photos as much as in the tears he shed and the hitch in his voice and the emotion that infused every word when he'd tell me about their life together.

"So imagine my surprise when, during that week of broken-legged incarceration, Grandpa sat me down and pulled out a photo album I'd never seen before. He'd struggled as he dug through his closet, pulling down mounds of debris and detritus from the top shelf until he found what looked to my young eyes to be an ancient, leather-bound artifact from time immemorial.

"With a reverence I'd never witnessed before, Grandpa settled beside me on that old couch of his and slowly opened the album with a respect that bordered on religious awe. He wrapped an arm around me and pulled me close. His voice full of emotions I'd never heard from him before, he told me a story, punctuating it with the pictures, old and faded and few of them in color.

"'You know I loved your grandma,' he said, 'and I loved her with all my heart. But I'm not long for this world, Greg, so I want to tell you about my first love. I think it's important for you to know.' Hoarse with affection and anguish and regret, he then shared a story about another man, a young man he'd grown up with, a young man he'd fallen in love with, a young man he'd lost to the quest for a normal life."

Wiping my eyes, I glanced back at the screens to see a few of the grainy images showing Grandpa Beaumont and Sonny Dowden, mostly together but sometimes separately.

Back to the respectfully silent crowd I continued, "His name was Sonny, though Grandpa called him Silver because his eyes were steel gray. He and Grandpa grew up together. Their friendship was deep and incontrovertible. But it was more than friendship. Grandpa Beaumont and Sonny grew closer and closer until they both realized they were in love with each other. Back then, as you can imagine, such a thing was absolutely intolerable and considered unnatural, if not downright evil. So they hid their feelings and their relationship.

"As the boys grew older, my great-grandparents approached their son to let him know it was time to put away childish things. They made it abundantly clear that his role in the family empire could blow away like so many autumn leaves if he didn't turn his back on what they clearly saw as an immoral way of life. To Grandpa's surprise, his parents knew about Sonny and tolerated it only because they expected it to go away on its own. But when it didn't, they threatened to ostracize their own son and cut him off from the family fortune just to ensure they weren't embarrassed by what they called moral bankruptcy.

"Young and impressionable and desperate to retain the wealth and prestige of his family, Grandpa decided he couldn't be that man. So he told Sonny it was over, everything between them. He ordered Sonny never to contact him, never to try and see him, to forget that he existed. And he told—no, threatened is the right word—threatened Sonny by saying that, should he ever tell anyone about what they'd shared, the full power of the Beaumont dynasty would sweep down and crush him like a bug. Then he simply walked away and set about being the normal heterosexual the world expected him to be."

Again I wiped my eyes, but I refused to cry. This story wasn't about catharsis; it was about something far more important.

"Leaving behind his heartbroken love, Grandpa forged ahead with filling the role that had been laid out for him on the day he was born. He met a girl and married, had two children, took over the family businesses, lived the life every normal man should live. Yet always in the back of his mind he wondered, regretted, worried, loved."

Gesturing to the photo of Grandma and Grandpa on display behind me, I continued, "My grandparents lived a life full of love and family, a life full of happiness and contentment. And Grandpa, true to the pledge he made to his parents and to himself, never acted on the longing he had to find Sonny, to find his Silver. He hid those feelings deep inside and denied them.

"But when Grandma died, his own parents long gone from this world, Grandpa realized he had the wherewithal to locate Sonny without betraying anyone. He therefore set the full power of his wealth and industry upon the task of locating his first love, if for no other reason than to satisfy his need to say goodbye in the way he'd denied himself when he angrily snuffed out the relationship and walked away from the boy who owned his heart."

Both screens switched to a simple gravestone showing Sonny Dowden's name along with the dates of his birth and death, no other inscription evident, the stone cracked and chipped and neglected.

"What he found broke his heart. Sonny had lamented the loss of his soul mate, had never tried to connect with anyone else, had shriveled into a lifeless husk of his former self. Within a year of Grandpa leaving him, Silver had become a recluse, depressed and anguished and beyond comfort." I wiped a stray tear from my cheek. "Sonny killed himself less than twelve months after losing his first love."

Sniffles and shuffling abounded, though no one looked away from the screens.

"Grandpa told me that day, nestled against him on that old worn sofa, dumbfounded by the terrible thing he was saying—my parents raised me to be blind to all but the heart of a person—that he wouldn't trade a minute of the life he'd chosen, but he still regretted not living the life he could've had, the life he'd left behind.

"I couldn't understand how something so terrible could happen. And I especially couldn't understand the loss Grandpa had suffered, both when he walked away from Sonny and when he eventually found him again. More than any of that, though, I couldn't understand why no one was there to help Sonny, to talk him down from the ledge his life had become, to offer a shoulder or an ear or a compassionate word of support; I couldn't understand how anyone could be left so desolate and alone that taking their own life merited nothing more than a brief mention in the local newspaper and a featureless and emotionless headstone above a nondescript grave."

With a sad shake of my head I told the crowd, "Wrapping his warm wrinkled hands around mine, his cheeks stained by tears a lifetime in the making, Grandpa Beaumont said to me, 'His parents knew. Like mine, they'd figured it out on their own. They kicked him out of the house and told him he wasn't their son anymore, and they didn't mind spreading the news around so everyone would hate him.'

"'And me? His tears were all I remembered from the day I left him, that heartbroken expression marring his beautiful face and the endless, silent tears falling like so much silver rain from those beautiful yet hurt gray eyes.' Snuggling me closer, sniffling, he added, 'Don't ever let anyone tell you who to be or how to think or what to feel.' Squeezing my hands tightly, kissing me atop the head, he said, 'Who you are and what you think and how you feel are already inside you, Greg. Don't ever let anyone take that away from you.'"

Tapping the side of my head with my index finger, I explained, "Even back then my family was aware of the strange quirk of memory I possess that allows me to remember every word I see and hear. At the time my grandfather told me that tale, I didn't fully appreciate its implications or meaning. Sure, I understood the words just fine and I understood the emotions even better since I felt them through and through, but what he was really telling me didn't register until later. Much later ..."

The screens behind me slowly shifted to brighter colors, brighter photos, all from the years following Grandpa's death. A few of the images showed me alone or me with Mom or Dad, but those quickly changed tone when Nate appeared. Every picture after that told the same story: Nate and I were inseparable.

"I didn't know—well, I didn't understand, anyway—that I was gay until I was eleven or twelve. I came out when I was thirteen. And by fourteen I'd gone back to that old photo album of Grandpa's, I'd gone back to the story he told me about Sonny. And I was left wondering what he'd seen in me years earlier, what he'd understood about me that I myself hadn't understood."

After a deep breath I said, "He passed away not long after he told me that story. While I didn't understand it at the time, he'd left a rather sizable trust fund for me, his only grandchild, and with it he'd left a note scrawled in his shaky handwriting that simply said, 'Use it to make life better.' What struck me about that was that he didn't say use it to make my life better, he didn't say use it to make my family's life better. No. I'd come to understand later that perhaps he'd known me better than my whole family, because he'd said use it to make life better.

"Let's jump ahead seven years, if you don't mind ... When I turned fifteen, something happened that forever altered the way I viewed my birthday."

Again the screens changed. Now they showed a hospital room with a damaged and broken adolescent boy connected to tubes and monitors, surrounded by family and friends.

"For my fifteenth birthday, a man decided to come to my home and assault me, both physically and sexually." I ignored the gasps, the sniffs, the murmured words of shock and horror. "Once he lost control, he focused solely on the damage he could inflict and the gratification he could draw from the experience. He spent hours inflicting catastrophic trauma to my body, but he'd spent years leading up to that day harming my mind, which in the scheme of things was the greater damage."

The pictures slowly progressed to my release from the hospital. Then they moved on to later years, moments at home, moments at school, moments with family, almost always moments with Nate.

"I've never been one to focus on the acquisition of material possessions, mind you, but by the time I turned sixteen I just wanted to ignore my birthday altogether, pretend it was just another day, no less important than a dreary Monday or a dreamy Saturday."

Photos from my childhood slowly changed to images of other children, their smiling faces as they dined, as they talked around a fire, as they played, as they read, as they hugged.

"By the time I turned seventeen, however, my birthday had taken on greater depth. Not for selfish reasons, I mean, but rather because my birthday had been forever altered and I could either embrace the tension and make of it something meaningful, or I could wallow in misery and pout away the day for the rest of my life.

"You have to understand my fifteenth birthday made me realize that Texas didn't offer a great deal of support for non-heterosexual children. I was horrified to see I was basically growing up in a world not too dissimilar to the one that had taken Grandpa away from Sonny, the world that had thought it completely acceptable to browbeat a man into betraying his love and belittling another until he took his own life solely on the basis of who he loved. As Mom and Dad explained to me at the time, Texas isn't exactly known to be inclusive or understanding or progressive in thought. That was something I decided I could maybe change, even if only a little bit."

The screens faded to a logo, silver clouds parting, silver drops of rain falling, sun peeking through the clouds, the hint of a rainbow resting atop an invisible horizon.

"Grandpa Beaumont's trust fund wasn't accessible to me until I turned eighteen. At seventeen I didn't fully grasp the amount of money available to me, but I did grasp that I could make life better with it, better for those less fortunate, better for those growing up in a world still inexcusably hostile toward them because they were born different from the majority.

"Working with my father, who by the way is the most brilliant businessman I've ever known—" I gave him a heartfelt smile and nod as supportive applause rippled across the room. "—the first thing I did on my eighteenth birthday was split off a sizable chunk of my trust fund to establish Silver Rain, a non-profit foundation focused exclusively on helping non-heterosexual children and their families."

The screen began showing images of hospitals, courtrooms, comfortable beds and warm dining rooms, all interspersed with children ranging in age from maybe twelve to eighteen, in addition to adults helping those children.

"Silver Rain provides shelter to runaways, legal services, fostering and adoptive services, health care, financial assistance, funding, therapy, individual and family counseling, job training and placement services, and a host of other types of assistance to kids rejected by family, rejected by friends, rejected by society. With a massive volunteer workforce as well as full-time staff, Silver Rain has expanded throughout Texas and has helped thousands of children reconnect with their families, find jobs and housing, receive medical care, enjoy shelter when they couldn't go home, and the list goes on ...

"Planned throughout my seventeenth year, my eighteenth birthday also started a tradition. Rather than celebrating my birthday as a day about me, I chose to use it as a day about Silver Rain and the kids we help, the families we heal, the lives we save."

Gesturing around the vast ballroom as the lights slowly brightened, I continued, "Everything you see here has been donated or paid for by sponsors, from the ballrooms to the coffee bar and alcohol bars to the hors d'oeuvres if you feel peckish and the dinner next door—" I gestured to my right. "—in the Dallas Ballroom if you feel famished to DJ Gabriel Gustavo—" I gestured to the delectable Latino on my left. "—who's offering his time and equipment and vast music library—" A gratefully robust round of applause erupted as he bowed repeatedly toward the crowd. "—and on it goes. Plus, of course, our various sponsors who donated all the wonderful prizes you could win with each raffle ticket you purchase. And all the money we make tonight goes directly to Silver Rain, to help fund the work we've been doing since two thousand four."

I took a deep breath, bracing myself. "In the intervening years since I founded Silver Rain and began the Birthday Bash tradition, I regrettably hid from my own tragedy. Basically, I was caught in the shadow of my assailant, which therefore meant I hid from a great deal of life. Silver Rain still had my full financial backing as well as whatever leadership it needed plus my fundraising efforts, but I stepped back and allowed others to carry the load of managing operations and planning growth, retaining final approval for myself but otherwise using distance to shield myself from memories of torment and tragedy.

"With the help of family and friends, though, I've spent the last year overcoming an evil man's influence and the hurt he so readily inflicted. And in the process of dealing with the pain from my own history, I've rediscovered promise in the future and fanned the flames of passion with which I created Silver Rain."

I continued speaking over the near constant applause and cheers, "So this year I'm proud to announce I'm moving back into the full leadership role for Silver Rain. One of our first endeavors is to begin expanding outside Texas with the goal of becoming a national force to help the children society too often ignores ... or worse.

"In addition, I've spent many months preparing an expansion of our services. Silver Rain Technologies will open its doors in the coming week. It's a not-for-profit private business venture that will pump all profits into the Silver Rain foundation. We'll offer a wealth of technology services to paying customers, but more importantly we'll offer internships, job training and employment opportunities to the kids we help at Silver Rain while providing a continuous revenue stream to enable us to expand our work and help more kids."

The applause was thunderous, making me blush while taking a small bow. Then I waited for the noise to settle.

"Everything you eat and drink tonight is free with a raffle ticket. The music you dance to and enjoy is free thanks to Gabriel. The hotel room you might stay in if you're too lubricated or tired is free. The only cost to you was the admission fee, which purchased one raffle ticket for each person paid for, plus any additional raffle tickets you purchase during the night. Again, all those proceeds go directly to Silver Rain with no overhead deducted. And, as always, I'll make a matching donation equal to tonight's total, so for every thousand-dollar raffle ticket you buy, two thousand dollars goes directly to Silver Rain to help children who might otherwise have no help at all."

Waving away the applause and gesturing around the ballroom, gesturing to the various displays and the various drink stations and food offerings, I announced, "Tonight is about enjoying yourselves while helping those who don't always have the help they need and deserve. Tonight is about helping kids heal, helping them discover who they are, helping them survive, helping them find jobs, helping them learn, helping them move on to higher education, helping them find family and friends, helping them have a warm bed and a warm meal when they're unwelcome everywhere else, and most importantly, helping them realize there's nothing wrong with them. Tonight is about preventing another tragedy like Sonny's.

"So buy as many raffle tickets as your purse or wallet will allow, or pull out your checkbook and write a big number on it to donate. In either case, know that that money is going to a worthwhile cause. Enjoy the evening with fellowship and good food and yummy drinks. Enjoy learning more about Silver Rain at the kiosks scattered throughout the ballrooms. Most of all, enjoy the feeling that comes with knowing you're doing a good deed."

I gave Gabriel a nod and slowly the music began building in volume as the screens behind me faded to black. Looking at the crowd, I smiled before enthusiastically shouting, "Welcome to the fourteenth annual Silver Rain Birthday Bash!"

Applause and cheers and whistles crescendoed to a deafening roar as I blushed, a single tear streaking down my cheek.

* * * * *

February 4, 2017

Hours seemed like days. Not that I found it tedious to shake all those hands, to accept all those checks, to receive all the gushing gratitude and support. No, that wasn't it at all. Nothing compared to the passion I had for Silver Rain and the work we did, work I'd not neglected for years but instead avoided as I left it in the hands of those more capable.

My affliction had been not willful ignorance but denial, my own charity pushed into the recesses of my blind spot where it wouldn't make me face the truth of why I'd created it. I'd remained one of its biggest benefactors and I'd never stopped offering guidance and leadership and I'd never considered letting the yearly fundraising party fall by the wayside and I've never balked at my figurehead duties. Despite all that, I'd avoided too much involvement and too much thought. And that really hurt in hindsight. Just something else Richard almost took from me.

But at the end of the night, after prizes were raffled and meals eaten and dances danced—I danced with so many people that my feet actually hurt, including Kyle, who knew how to cut the rug—I still had a plan and a purpose that was a kind of selfish selflessness. I wanted to win Nate's heart, needed it with all my being, but of equal import was my hope that I could help him step out of Richard's shadow.

By one in the morning the crowd had dwindled until only small pockets of people huddled here and there. Often playing at clubs that didn't close until four in the morning, Gabriel was still going strong. He'd stripped off his sweatshirt and finished the night in a skin-tight tank top—no one complained about that, by the way—but otherwise he looked fresh and ready to party until sunrise. The bastard!

After having Trey escort Kyle up to his room—the poor kid had had a seriously long day, what with getting up for school that morning before catching a flight from Florida to Texas that afternoon followed by spending hours at a huge charity gala, not to mention any emotional drain he'd suffered—I had my other employees and volunteers start gently prodding the stragglers to move on or accept one of the available rooms. I didn't care where they went so long as they went away.

Keigan and Yannis left around midnight, Malinda and Brandon a short time later, and Mom, Dad, Uncle Farid and Aunt Jan had trickled out the door shortly after the raffle at eleven. Clearly age negatively affects party time. How very unfortunate.

Throughout the evening, as had always been the case during these events, Nate supported me as much as he could. Sometimes that meant showing up with a drink, sometimes just a hand on the small of my back, sometimes a hug, sometimes just a smile from nearby, that smile he never gave to anyone else. But I refused to let him get bogged down with me, always thanking him profusely with words or a look or am embrace before sending him off to dance, to eat, to drink, to visit, to enjoy himself. No matter the goings on in our relationship, I knew he'd be there when the time came.

And the time had finally come.

I made my way across the nearly empty ballroom. Nate leaned against the coffee bar. As if he could feel my gaze, he turned slowly in my direction. The smile that bloomed on his face when our eyes met was the one he only gave to me, gleaming and warm and honest and full of affection. I was ten years old the first time I saw that smile; it took my breath away. It was no less devastating twenty-one years later.

"Hey, you," he greeted as I approached.

"Hey, yourself."

"Busy night?"

"Yeah."

"Was it a good one?"

"The best one yet."

His smile was breathtaking, heartfelt. "I'm glad to hear it."

Reaching out, I took his hand in mine. "Let's make it a better one. Dance with me, Nate."

His pause was so slight as to be inconsequential, the flicker of fear in his eyes so brief as to be imagined. Then he squared his shoulders, nodded.

I motioned to Trey, who immediately jogged over to me. "Time to wrap it up," I told him.

"Sure thing, boss."

"Asshole." I grinned, shook my head.

"Whatever you say, boss."

I gave him a light smack on the shoulder and said, "Go on, you bonehead. Tell everybody they have my sincere thanks. I'll give them an update as soon as I can."

He grinned. "Did we do good?"

"Yeah, Trey, we did indeed."

"I'll let'em know, boss." His grin widened at my scowl. Then he glanced at Nate before returning his gaze to me. Leaning in close, he whispered in my ear, "All my hopes." He spun on his heels and marched away.

I shrugged at Nate's inquisitive look. And I focused on keeping my mind and expression blank. The last thing I needed was him getting in my head, reading my intentions and using them to smack headlong into Richard's vile mental wall. That time would come.

Even as people were gently herded toward the exits, I motioned to Gabriel, a simple and brief spin of my index finger in the air. He ducked his head and smiled, nodded confirmation.

Dragging him by his hand, I pulled Nate to dance area.

"Dude, we haven't danced together since our club days."

"What, like five or six years ago the last time?"

He shrugged, pensive with a hint of longing. "Something like that."

"This'll be different, Nate."

"How so?"

When the quick tempo of some random pop song rapidly dwindled and the air settled quiet and expectant, Nate's eyes narrowed a bit, watching me closely, curiosity and a tinge of apprehension in his expression.

The electronica intro for "I Am You" by Depeche Mode, one of Nate's favorite songs, slowly filled the emptiness the quiet revealed. Little did he know Gabriel's playlist for this private dance party consisted of a specific selection of Nate's favorite songs, songs with meaning, songs that would speak to the heart of him while providing the intimate tempos I needed.

I stepped close to him, lifted his hand and held it over my heart, wrapped my other arm around the small of his back and pulled him close. Snugging him against me, his apprehension quickly growing into fear, I leaned down enough to whisper in his ear.

"Don't think. Just feel."

He shivered as my breath caressed his skin, my lips grazing his ear.

Lights around the ballroom dimmed, leaving a warm glow above the dance area while the rest fell away into darkness.

"Don't think, Nate. Just feel with me."

He stiffened against me but didn't push away. With my lips still at his ear, I wrapped my arm tighter around him, pressing his hand against my chest, and I began leading us, gentle sways and turns. Because we both loved to dance, this was no shuffling, stumbling, knee-knocking debacle, but instead it was a resonance of two bodies moving as one, sinuous and leonine and graceful and elegant, yet not a hint of pretension or show.

The hand that had been draped by his side, dangling uselessly, slowly rose, coming to rest on my arm, his grip like velvet-clad iron. Shivers and trembles moved from his body to mine; I absorbed them like venom drawn from a wound.

"When you left, I thought you'd forget me." His voice was hardly a whisper,

"No, Little Big Man. No. I knew the first time we met that I'd never be able to forget you."

My words were nothing but air breathed into his ear, lips caressing the meaning against his skin. He leaned into my voice without thinking, goosebumps erupting on his neck, the slightest tremor vibrating him from head to toe.

"You don't have to fear losing me, Nate. Never again. I'll never leave your side, you hear me?"

He nodded, such a slight movement.

"Leaving was foolish. I was an idiot, not seeing clearly. It was a mistake that won't happen again." Pressing my lips to his ear I added, "There's nothing to fear anymore because I'm not going anywhere."

Nestling my cheek against his, my breath undulating across his ear, my parted lips pressed against his skin and settled there, I inhaled his scent and felt dizzy from it, intoxicated.

In silence I kept us moving, body to body, sensuous movements easing us through the dimness.

When the electronica began to fade, the cymbal and drum and electric guitar of "Enigma" by Trapt slowly replaced it, the transition as smooth as gentle waves washing ashore, the boundary between one and the other blurred where they met.

Nate pulled his head back. I responded, meeting his gaze, our faces close enough to taste each other's breath. A suspicious look quickly passed before he smiled.

"You?" he asked, gesturing skyward with his head.

"For you," I replied sotto voce.

"You're a sneaky bastard, G-Man."

"I do what I can."

There was that smile again, the one meant just for me. It came coupled with a look of profound gratitude.

Then to the slightly faster beat I moved us, holding him close, letting silence settle between us, letting our bodies speak to each other without words. We stared, eyes locked. In his I could see Nate struggling against Richard.

To help the better man win the fight, I leaned forward the scant distance it took and kissed him, capturing his lips with mine and pouring from my soul into his soul every bit of love and strength I had, every bit of hope and promise, every bit of me for him.

Though he staggered, swayed, I held him upright, held him against me. His body shook and I held him. His grip tightened and I held him. I held him through the kiss, a powerful telling of my feelings directly into the heart of him. I kissed him with a potency and furor the likes of which I'd never used in a kiss before. I kissed him like my life depended on it.

Eventually I came up for air. Nate went limp against me, hitched breathing ragged and desperate. He dropped his face against my shoulder with a slow shake of his head.

I knew he could feel my heart hammering beneath his hand, still held against my chest between us. I knew he could hear my rapid breathing. I knew he could feel my love washing over him in waves, carried to the shores of his soul by the strength of my embrace. But mostly I knew he could feel my resolve, my desire to push us out of Richard's shadow.

"Why?" he murmured against me. The hitch in his voice told me was near tears. "Why did you do that, G-Man?"

Turning my head slightly, I settled my lips against his ear once again and spoke softly. "Feel with me, Nate. Don't think. Just feel."

"I don't know ... I don't know what I'm supposed to feel."

"Feel how much I love you. Feel how much you mean to me. Feel how much I need you in my life."

"I don't ... I'm not sure ... "

"Just feel, Nate. Don't think about it. I'm right here and I love you and I'm not going anywhere. Just feel with me ..."

I held him and danced with him, keeping us as close as two bodies can be while dressed, keeping him secure in my hold as he felt the strength of my heartbeat against his hand.

As the song slowly began to fade, the drums and cymbals and electric guitars were replaced by the piano of "All of Me" by John Legend.

Nate shook his head against me, a broken chuckle muffled by my shoulder. Then he sniffed.

I kept us moving, always moving.

When John Legend's piano gave way to the piano of "My Immortal" by Evanescence, his body shook against me. Then he moaned, "Oh fuck ..."

"Nate?"

"What?" he muttered. He sounded like he was reaching an emotional edge, a precipice where he could either jump or retreat. I needed to push him more. For in the end, he either had to jump or hope had to die.

"Look at me, Nate."

The moment he lifted his head from my shoulder, the song piercing our hearts and minds and souls, I gazed into his wounded eyes, the eyes of a man haunted by the past and frightened of the future.

"Just feel, Nate. Stop thinking and just feel with me." Against his lips I whispered, "I love you."

I kissed him again. I made it the most meaningful yet, so much of me passing through my lips into him. He juddered bodily, his grip on my arm a stranglehold. He'd probably leave bruises if he kept at it. I didn't care.

Nate pressed forward enough to let me know he was feeling, not thinking. He'd participated in each kiss to an increasing degree, but he'd never chased as I retreated. I pressed forward, opening my very being and pouring it into him. That's when he moaned, a throaty, quiet groan that came from someplace deep.

Brushing my tongue across his bottom lip caused him to gasp, which was what I wanted. I slipped my tongue into his mouth, tentative, sliding it across his lips and teeth until I met his tongue. That's when he jerked away, pushing with both arms, shaking his head.

Strong though he was, I was bigger and stronger, albeit not enough to win an endless struggle with him. Knowing time was of the essence, I released his hand and grabbed his shoulder as I pulled with the arm around his waist.

"No!" he shouted. "I need to find—"

I didn't let him finish that shit. That was Richard thinking. I wanted Nate feeling.

Slamming my lips against his and kissing him with passion and love and lust and everything I felt for him, with all my strength I turned us and backed him against the wall, pinning him with my body and pulling him against me with my arms. Since his mouth had already been open, I slid my tongue in with ease and began chasing his, dueling, penetrating and retreating, tasting.

Nate's mouth was hot velvet, slick and sweet, his breath a drug I inhaled greedily.

His shudder was potent, his moan more so. I swallowed the sound and pressed my body harder against his. It wasn't a sexual move, though it could've been; on the contrary, it was a communication tool, my promise to him that I'd see this through.

Nate writhed and pushed, but he never turned his head away and he never hit me. If he had, he knew it would've ended the night right then. After Richard and my fifteenth birthday, violence was the one button I had that could override everything else.

Pulling away from his mouth, leaving him gasping and dazed and the fight in him weak and impotent, I growled, "Tell me what you feel, Nate! Tell me! Don't think, just feel! Tell me!"

His head shaking was ferocious, eyes squeezed shut. "I can't! I don't know!"

Wrapping a hand behind his neck, I pulled his face to mine even as I leaned forward to capture his mouth yet again.

He could've bit my tongue. He could've turned his head. He could've pushed me away. He could've done a million things, but instead he moaned as my tongue wrestled with his, as my lips bruised his, as we inhaled and exhaled into each other.

The song gently transitioned to "Iris" by The Goo Goo Dolls. I was vaguely aware of his body stiffening when the music became clear enough to recognize.

Gentling the kiss, morphing from passion to love, I slid both hands up to his face and bracketed him, cupping his cheeks with light touches, deepening the kiss emotionally while I shallowed its lust, my fingers massaging and caressing.

Relaxing, backing away, slowing down, I broke the kiss with an ease that made it difficult to know when it ended. Then I kissed him repeatedly, lightly, affectionately, lovingly, each a moment frozen in time.

"I love you, Nate Sawyer, I love you so much it hurts, like a great weight on my chest and a knife in my heart and a need so powerful only one man can satisfy it. I love you so very much, Nate."

His eyes were closed, his cheeks flushed, his lips swollen and luscious and wet, his breathing ragged and rapid and barely controlled.

I leaned my forehead against his, sharing breaths, my hands slowly moving down to his shoulders. When he reached up and gripped my upper arms, I worried the push would come next.

"Stop letting him win." I whispered against his lips before kissing him. "He's controlled us for too long." Another kiss, my hands on his chest, caressing, meandering back to his shoulders. "How many years have we wasted in his shadow?" Another kiss, slow and purposeful, one hand on his chest, another rubbing the back of his neck. "It's time to come into the light, Little Big Man." Another kiss. "Do you want to stay safely alone or do you want to take a risk for happiness?" Another kiss. "Where we go from here is totally up to you, Nate." Another kiss. "It's time to leave Richard in the past." Another kiss, soft and easy. "I love you." Another kiss.

Once more resting my forehead against his, I tried to catch my breath, deep inhales and powerful exhales. His sniffles and hitched breathing let me know about the tears. I gently wiped them from his cheeks, running my thumbs between our faces, keeping my forehead pressed to his.

Nate shivered, breathing hard, eyes still squeezed shut. Occasionally he shook his head from side to side, tiny movements almost overlooked, as if negating a proposition. Or clearing his head.

"Don't let him keep taking everything away from us, Nate. Hasn't he taken enough already? Hasn't he hurt us enough already? How much more will you sacrifice to him before you realize he's gone and never coming back and the only harm he can do to us now is what we inflict on ourselves in his name?"

That broke him. He clung to me like a drowning man holding a life preserver, his body wracked with sobs. Dropping his head to my shoulder, Nate wept and shook and silently poured out his anguish and sorrow and regret.

Hugging him to me, I held him tightly, closely, rubbing his back and whispering to him that I loved him, I was there for him, I'd never leave him, I loved him more than life itself, he could count on me, and on I went. His weight against me was welcome as he drew strength from me.

"Please ..." he moaned against me.

"Please what?" I whispered against his ear.

"Don't ever leave me."

"I'll never leave you again. I was a fool to do what I did. I was a fool to hurt you that way."

"I never fully understood what I was feeling or what I had until it was almost ripped away twice. I can't do this without you"

"Do what?"

"Live ... Be happy ... Love ... I need you, G-Man. Fuck, I need you so much it hurts."

"I'm right here, Nate. I'm not going anywhere. I love you."

He stood upright, leaning back against the wall, his face to the ceiling, eyes closed, cheeks stained by tears. His hands still gripped my arms, a solid but not tight hold.

As "Iris" fell to silence, giving way to the orchestral sound of "Everything" by Lifehouse, his grip tightened for just a moment, lips quivering.

Gently cupping his face, I tilted his head down so we were eye to eye despite his being closed, then I kissed him, a light touch, just a hint of pressure. Soft trembles passed over him.

"Feel with me, Nate. Don't think, just feel. Forget everything he ever told you, forget what he taught you to believe about you and me and us." Another gentle kiss. "Just feel with me, Nate. Come out of his shadow and feel with me." Another kiss, a promise for days to come. In a whisper against his lips I repeated, "Just feel with me, Nate. Don't think about it, just feel how much I love you and feel how much I want to be with you and feel with me ..."

The lightest pressure against my mouth as he leaned forward a breath, a hair, less than a millimeter. But I felt it. Despite our tears and anguish and the torments of history still plaguing us and the pain of so many years wasted and the near irreparable harm his father did to us for his own gleefully sick wants, Nate moved just enough to touch his lips to mine.

"Tell me, Nate. Don't think about, Little Big Man. Just feel it. Tell me what it is you feel."

He inhaled, ragged and pained. Then so quietly I almost didn't hear it, he said, "I love you. I've loved you for so long I almost don't remember not loving you."

"I love you, too."

When his lips touched mine the second time, he moved but I didn't. It was his kiss. My stomach flipped and churned with that indescribable joy that comes only from being kissed by someone who holds my heart, someone I love. Anyone who's ever been kissed by someone they love would know the feeling.

And he was a damn good kisser, soft and gentle yet firm and unflinching. So much passion, so much emotion. He sampled me with tentative pressure. And I nearly fainted when his tongue teased my lips, getting me to open and accept.

He tasted of the beer he'd had earlier, and spices from the dinner he'd had in the ballroom next door, and a taste that I knew was all him, all Nate. I nearly crumbled beneath the weight of the moment, so intoxicated did I feel, so elated, so hopeful.

Our tongues caressed and entwined and lavished, exploring, touching, communing.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes slowly opening, it left me breathless. And wanting more.

Nate pulled my face down to lean our foreheads together. My hands slowly explored downward until they wrapped around his waist, my fingers softly kneading and touching and caressing, drawing forth faint shivers.

"I don't know what to do," he whispered.

"Don't think about it, Nate. Just feel. What do you feel you should do."

Again he inhaled a stuttering breath before exhaling. I sucked in his breath like it was the only air left in the world.

"I don't know," he murmured. "I'm scared. I don't want to lose you. I've almost lost you twice. I couldn't handle it again, Greg. Not again. Never again. I don't think I could take it."

"Hey hey hey ... You're not going to lose me, Nate. I'm never leaving your side as long as you want me there. I'm not going anywhere. I love you, Little Big Man."

The song faded slowly until it was joined by the introductory guitar of "Say" by John Mayer.

"Fuck, dude," he started with quick shake of his head against mine and an almost silent snicker, "did you do that?"

"The music?"

"Yeah." It was a word caught on a breath.

I nodded my head against his. "Yeah."

"You did good, G-Man. All the right ones."

"I did it for you, Nate. I'd do anything for you."

"I know." He turned his head enough to rest his cheek against mine. The inches I had on him meant I was looking over his head and his cheek was more against my jaw than anything else. I slowly dropped my head to equalize the experience.

"Where do we go from here?" he asked.

"Upstairs to get some sleep. It's been a long night."

"And emotional," he snorted, though it was weak.

"Yeah ... It's definitely been emotional."

I had no intention of trying anything sexual with him, at least not yet. I felt what I'd accomplished thus far was precarious and needed gentle support and nurturing so it didn't blow up on us. Everything else would come if I could get us out of Richard's shadow.

At least I finally knew how he felt. And that made me the happiest man on the planet despite the obstacles we still needed to overcome.

Like the day I brought him home from the shared session with Uncle Farid, I helped Nate collect his jacket before supporting him to the elevator, up to the suite, into the bedroom. I undressed him and settled him under the covers, then I quickly undressed and joined him, wrapping my body around him, holding him close, kissing his head and ear and neck, snuggling us together until it became impossible to tell where one of us ended and the other began.

Quietly, only the sound of breathing piercing the dark, I held him and listened until he fell asleep. Then I closed my eyes and drifted into slumber hoping we'd finally moved beyond the shadow of The Fiend.

* * * * *

Several hours later my cell woke me. A new text message. Groggily and bleary-eyed, I rolled slightly and reached toward the nightstand.

Too much silence.

The clock showed just after seven in the morning. At least I'd had five hours of sleep, five hours of the most blissful yet fitful sleep of my life, filled with thoughts and dreams of Nate and where we were and where we were going and what it would take to get both of us out of Richard's shadow and into the light of a new life.

Something's changed, something's different. Something's wrong.

As my hand hovered over the edge of the bed, a foreboding sense of unease blanketed me, cloaked me with the impression that something was amiss. My eyes briefly scanned the half of the room I could see without turning my head.

Where are his clothes?

Lifting the phone and glancing at the screen, Kyle had sent me a message, no doubt letting me know he was awake. Well, out of bed anyway, since awake might come later after the night we had. I sent one back saying I was just waking up and would get back to him once I reached lucidity. Assuming that was an attainable goal.

What's that piece of paper that was under my phone?

Slowly, afraid of what I'd see, I glanced over my shoulder.

The bed's empty.

My hand made a slow move toward that side of the bed, afraid of what it would discover, afraid of the truth I already knew, afraid of what it meant.

The sheets are cold. So is the pillow. He's been gone for some time.

"Nate?" I quietly called, my voice hoarse with sleep and reticent to force a confrontation with the facts I couldn't deny.

No sound of the television, no sound of the coffee maker, no sound of dishes, no rustling as someone moves on the couch, no soft footsteps as a sleepy man approaches the door to see if I'm really awake.

Only the cold echo of my own weak voice reached my ears.

The paper. It wasn't there last night. Look at the mother fucking paper!

Shivers wracked my body, not from cold but from fear, a dread that reached inside me and gripped my heart and squeezed it until I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't move.

That's his handwriting, clean and neat and masculine.

As if it might burn me, only my fingertips brushed the piece of hotel stationery, moving it in tiny sliding increments until it rested near me, near the bed, near revelation.

Why? Why would this happen?

Afraid it might sting, maybe bite, certainly hurt, I trapped the corner of the paper between my fingers and dragged it off the nightstand. Despite resting my arm on the bed and looking down at the note and its pristine writing, it shook and rattled and blurred.

Greg,

Please forgive me for writing this in a letter. I should've said it to you in person, but I knew I wouldn't get through it if I tried. You fog my mind and cloud my senses and roil my emotions into a storm. You're worth more than gibberish, hence the note.

I want to say that I'm sorry, sorry for everything.

Part of me wants to say I wish we'd never met, that way Richard would never have seen you and he'd never have screwed up our lives to severely. But we both know it would be a lie because meeting you was the greatest event in my life. I just wish a different man had sired me. Things would be so different now.

I always knew I'd break your heart. Somehow I always knew. For years I wasn't sure about how you felt, but still I just knew I'd break your heart.

If I could make you happy, it would fulfill every desire I've had since we were kids. It's just that I don't know who I am anymore and you merit better than sitting around hoping I eventually figure out my shit. I don't know if I can be the man you want, the man you think I am, the man you deserve, and it would be selfish hubris to expect you to wait for me. What a pisser it would be if you did that only to find I can't be that man.

There's so much fear in me that it feels like I'm strangling. All of it is a fear of losing you. But if I try to be what you want, if I try to be that man, I might fail. If I fail, it'll hurt you beyond repair and you'll walk away without a backward glance. It nearly killed me when I almost lost you to Richard. It felt like part of me died when you walked out of our house after telling me we couldn't be friends anymore. I'm sorry, Greg, but I wouldn't survive a third time.

It's easier this way. Maybe it doesn't feel like it—it sure as hell doesn't feel like it to me—but we both know this is easier. This is better for both of us.

I hope you find what you're looking for, and I say that with all sincerity instead of the spite and anger with which so many others say it. My hope is genuine and heartfelt. You deserve happiness, more than any other person on the planet, and I really hope you find it one day.

You've been my life for so long that I don't know how to live without you, but I'll figure it out because that's what's best for you. I wouldn't change a moment of what we've had together except, maybe, to wish I didn't feel this way anymore. Maybe then I could be the man you want me to be.

I love you, G-Man. And I'm sorry.

Nate

The writing blurred and blurred and blurred, but I could see well enough to notice the first tear as it landed on the trembling paper.

My hand opened and the letter slid off the bed and drifted to the floor. I rolled over and dropped into the space he'd occupied, burying my face in his pillow. And then I broke beneath the weight of it as tears came hot and heavy and sobs choked me.

But his scent still lingered. There was at least that.