Page 52 of Backward Motion

Shit.Connor exhaled through his lips. “I ran into your mom a couple weeks back. She said things got pretty dark there for a while.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Sam muttered. “And you just never thought to ask?”

“I didn’t want to push. I assumed you’d tell me when you were ready. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone’s going through their own struggles—”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Was all of this—the attentive-lover schtick—just you feeling sorry for me?”

“What? No.”

Sam strode past him and headed toward the door.

Connor followed, not sure how this had devolved so quickly. “You’re so careful with what you share, especially about yourself. It’s like you’re trying to project what you think other people want. What exactly doyouwant, Sam? Have you thought about that?”

“Now you won’t have to bother figuring it out.” Sam reached for the door handle, and Connor caught his arm.

“Wait, please, Sam—”

“Actually, about what I want.” Sam turned to face Connor, his eyes shining. “I want a boyfriend who invites me to Sunday-night dinner with his parents. Who can take me out without pretending we’re just friends. Who would stand up for me in front of his family.”

The breath stalled in Connor’s lungs. His hand dropped from Sam’s arm like deadweight.

“But that’s not going to happen, is it? Because until you face your dad, I’ll be stuck living your lie.” Sam’s face fell, and the anger left his voice. “And this will be just like high school, where you stand back, silent. Not because you don’t want to say something but because you can’t. I can’t go through that again. I can’t be with someone who makes me feel alone.”

Connor said nothing. There was nothing to say because Sam was right. He felt a rush of sorrow, powerless to stop this incredible, perfect thing from slipping through his fingers. Connor was still hiding—from his family, his friends, everyone in town. He’d made Sam an accomplice in his deception after years of openly living his truth.How could I have expected him to settle for that?

“It’s not you, Connor. You’re wonderful—believe me.” Sam looked down at the floor with a quiet sadness. “You make me feel... worthwhile. And I’m not used to that. But I need to be with someone who’s ready to live as himself. That’s one thing I can’t trade off on.” Then Sam pulled open the door, sending a shock of cold air into Connor’s face. “I’m sorry.” He stepped out, closing the door behind him with a muffled thud.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The day Connor set fire to his neighbor’s shed had started out like every other day of his life since hitting puberty. He woke up in the narrow twin bed in his childhood bedroom and waited to see if this would be the morning he finally felt like a normal teenage boy. Once again, he was disappointed. It took a while longer for him to summon the person he was supposed to be and mold the shape around him like a suit of armor. But in those first few moments after waking, it was just him, exposed and raw. And that was the scariest part.

The only thing that helped, that cleared his head enough to function, was putting pen to paper. He filled notebooks with angry, jagged words in black ink, scratching out his fears and self-loathing. It was like a bloodletting. The ritual gave him the strength to assemble his disguise and head out into the world.

That morning, he’d woken late again. After dragging himself out of bed and throwing on some clothes, he swept the pile of schoolbooks on his desk into his backpack and stomped downstairs to find his mother standing anxiously by the window in the kitchen. “Connor, your father’s waiting for you outside. He wants to drive you to school this morning.”

From the way she said it, he knew his dad wasn’t looking for a chance to squeeze in some extra father–son bonding time. It meant Connor was in for another of his dad’stalks, which were less abouttalking and more about keeping his mouth shut while the old man came down on him hard.

“Why?” he asked, glancing past her through the window to see his father standing by the work van with his arms crossed.

“You’ll have to ask him.” Then, as though sensing she wasn’t making this any more appealing, she managed a thin smile. “Go on, you’re already late. Don’t make him more upset.”

Connor threw a packet of Pop-Tarts in his backpack and slunk out the front door to meet his fate.

“It’s almost eight,” his father said when he approached. “How do you expect people to take you seriously if you can’t show up on time?”

Connor shrugged. He didn’t expect people to take him seriously, period.

“Hurry up and get in.”

Connor climbed into the passenger side of the van and stared out the window as his old man backed out of the driveway.

“Your mother got another call from the principal yesterday.”

Connor rolled his eyes.Why didn’t she come right out and say it?

“Unexplained absences, tardiness, smoking on school grounds, being disruptive in class.” His dad held out a finger for each offense, the skin on his hand weathered from years of pulling wire. “And don’t even get me started on your grades. You’re flunking almost every subject.”

It was a bit much, his dad lecturing him about grades when he’d barely scraped by himself. Neither of them was exactly Harvard material. Connor yanked open his backpack and felt around for his Pop-Tarts. The packet must have slipped to the bottom of the bag, and he began pulling out his books and dumping them at his feet until he spotted a glimmer of silver foil.