“Care to comment on what your friends said?” Harry asked.
“I believe he just said he didn’t want to do an interview,” Trevor said, his voice coming out stern. Both Alice and Harry glanced warily at Trevor. They didn’t know, as Connor did, that Trevor was softer than the average kitten.
“Are you going to write about it, if I comment?” Connor asked.
“Not if you don’t want us to—” Alice said.
“—Yes.” Harry finished in a certain tone. Alice shot him a scathing look. Connor thought that was unnecessary; Harry was the one reading him right, after all.
“They’re telling the truth,” Connor said. “And no, before you ask, I’m still not willing to do an interview.” He turned his back on them and set off down the path. After a moment, Trevor caught up.
“What did they ask you?” Trevor asked, his voice tight with worry. “What did your friends say?”
Ahead of them, the docks were filled with only a small scattering of people. In the distance, Sally’s bar was packed; the music and voices were audible even from where they were.
“They said I was gay.”
Trevor missed a step. Connor reached out a steadying hand before his big form hit the deck. Once he found his footing, Trevor’s shocked face jerked toward Connor. “Why didn’t you say that when you were being sentenced?” he asked. His surprise didn’t infect his voice; Trevor kept it calm. His brow furrowed.
The back of Connor’s neck reddened; his reasons were spiteful when he’d made the decision, but he hadn’t been embarrassed by them before. He was now. He wasn’t about to tell Trevor that, though. “And go from a hate charge to an assault charge? There isn’t much difference.”
“I would argue that thereis.”
Connor just shrugged.
Trevor kept his silence for only a few seconds. “What happened that night?” He looked furtively toward Connor. “Can you tell me?”
Connor hated explaining himself. It always made him feel like he was trying to say, “Look! See! I’m a good boy really!” His mom always got angrier with him when he would try to explain his actions. It was better to just shoulder the blame, let people assume the worst. He’d eventually convinced himself that he didn’t care what other people thought of him, which was largely true. But he knew without any deep soul searching that he cared what Trevor thought.
“I’ll tell you if you get me chips,” Connor said. He meandered off the path, kicking a loose crisp wrapper out of his way before sitting on a bench set up for the festival. He glanced up at Trevor. “And a coke.”
“Alright,” Trevor agreed. He looked back the way they’d came, waiting a moment with his eyes on the two reporters who were only dark shadows in the distance. “If anyone bothers you, come to the food truck, okay?”
Connor rolled his eyes. A “yes,dad” sat poised on the tip of his tongue. He held it back. “I’ll do that,” he said blandly. Trevor didn’t take any notice of his attitude.
Trevor wasn’t gone long. Only enough time for Connor’s eyes to start drifting shut as his tired body tried to force him to doze.
Trevor offered Connor the coke and then two wrappers. “There’s chips in one, and Laurence insisted on making you a beetroot burger.”
“Beetroot burger? Interesting choice for a fast food stand.”
“Oh, believe me, I have gotten quite the earful about being more inclusive to vegetarians. I didn’t realise how backward and stubborn I was until Laurence calmly explained it.” Trevor sat next to Connor.
Connor grinned before reaching for his chips. “You’re no match for him.”
“I’m figuring that out,” Trevor said in resignation.
He waited quietly as Connor got a few mouthfuls of food into him, watching the festival scene as it whirled around them. In the distance, Sam’s tall frame and red hair caught his eye. And he apparently caught his, too, because he lifted his hand in a wave. He took a step in Connor’s direction before Mary sprang onto him and dragged him into the crowd. Connor chewed through a few bites of the burger before he cleared his throat.
“I can’t remember what happened,” Connor said.
Trevor inclined his head toward him.
“I was at a party—my birthday party. I remember counting down the time to midnight with Austin. There was a cake and candles. I had a Pepsi—not a drop of anything in it, no alcohol, no anything, I swear. I know I made a big song and dance about missing your wedding and getting drunk instead, but I don’t actually drink.” No point, since he couldn’t ever actually get drunk. Not like people described it, anyway. “I was counting down the time and then… I don’t know. My mind was bulldozed by this black wave. I was out. And when I woke up, I was in this mess. My knuckles were all bruised and I was sore everywhere, like I’d been a fight, so I know something did happen. But I don’t remember any of it. The whole—I walked in on two guys getting it on, and my inner bigot came out in a violent rage—story? Well, I’m guessing what happened is I did walk in on them, and I got angry that my boyfriend was hooking up with someone, and we got into a fight.” Connor let out a heavy breath, feeling an intense weight in his stomach, an oppressive hurt pressing against his heart.
Connor shoved a handful of chips into his mouth, chewing through his malevolent feelings. It didn’t matter how much he tried to keep a level face; it wasn’t happening. But it wasn’t the end of the world, because of all the people to see that he was upset, Trevor bothered Connor the least.
Trevor reached out, placing a comforting hand on Connor’s shoulder.
