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“He needs me, Daniel. I have to show him that we’re possible—that being gay and happy together is possible.” He shook his head, and I plowed on, trying to convince myself. I hurt all over like it was my own heart I was breaking and not his. Maybe it was. “What happened between us last night was amazing. You raise the bar all the time. Every minute I’m with you, I see how good things could be.”
“Then why?”
Because you’re too real, and I’m scared.“You’re pro-ball, and I’m minor-league.”
“Sports metaphor? Really?” Daniel pressed his lips into a thin line.
“Okay, so you’re Sting and I’m some kid playing guitar in a pub on the Strip.”
Daniel’s brow furrowed. “Is this a convoluted way of saying you’re not good enough for me?”
“Yeah. In a way.” Oh man, I was so close to saying,“It’s not you, it’s me.”
He shook his head, clearly not understanding. How could I tell him that I wasn’t ready to love him? That when I looked at him, all I saw waspotentialandforever. And that was too much when I’d just graduated from high school, when I hadn’t even seen if Adam could be free with me, when I wasjust a stupid kid.
“Please tell me the truth,” Daniel whispered.
My stomach ached. “The truth is I can’t be with you now.”
He shook his head and cursed quietly.
“But I swear, I’m going to be honest about myself from now on. No more hiding. No more lies. Not from me. I’m going to prove to Adam we can do this.” I waved my hand toward the lobby where our friends were eating breakfast and probably gossiping about what we were saying out here. “I know now I don’t have to lie to be accepted. I can be true to myself. I can teach him how to do that too.”
“So what you’re saying is it’s more important to convince him to embrace his queerness than for you to be true to yourself by being with me.”
I groaned. “I don’t know what I want.” A car horn sounded in the distance followed by the squeal of brakes. “He’ll be here in two weeks.Two weeks, Daniel. This is our shot. I can’t—not now.”
“I won’t wait for you. I’m not going to do that to myself.” A thread of anger sewed strength into his quiet voice.
Emptiness swirled in me, regret washed with guilt. I reached out to him. “I’m sorry.”
Daniel turned away toward the motel. “Me too.”
“Wait.”
He didn’t.
I let him go. There was nothing I could say that wouldn’t make things worse. I rubbed a hand over the stubble burn on my chin. My throat ached, and tears slipped down my cheeks. I folded over in the back seat of the Volvo, trying to hold my pain inside.
Two weeks and then Adam would be here. I’d made a choice and hopefully it’d be worth it. I tried to see him in my mind’s eye, but instead I kept picturing Daniel’s face right before I kissed him the night before: sleepy, sweet, loving.
I choked on a sick sob.
***
When Daniel climbedinto Barry’s back seat with Renée’s dresses and wigs, Antonio called shotgun with me. My stomach threatened to revolt as Robert gave me a searching look laced with disappointment. I shook my head and got behind the wheel.
The uncomfortable quiet emanating from the other passengers made me put my foot on the gas harder, desperate to get home so I could be alone with my shame and pain.
Windy and Minty whispered in the back seat, but even that grew more and more subdued as the first silent hour slipped by. When I glanced back as we passed the sign to Cookeville, they were both asleep, their heads tilted against each other—dark hair on light.
“So, you shot him down,” Antonio said finally, stuffing a gas-station-brand red licorice whip into his mouth. “Stupid of you.”
“Thanks.” I stared at the road disappearing under the car.
“He’s a good guy.”
“I know.” My heart squeezed in a tight fist again, and regret soured in my mouth.
