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With that, my father presses his hands against his pristine suit, as if trying to clean the filth off, and swiftly exits the room. My mother follows silently.
That night I boarded a plane to Plano, Texas. My parents sent me to a Christian camp where they guided me to take the right path through the Bible and reparative therapy—gay conversion therapy, they called it.
The camp only confused me further, filled me with guilt, and left me struggling with not just my sexuality, but my faith too. The only thing I learned is that my parents will never accept me for who I am.
Since then, the shame follows me wherever I go. Coming to terms with who I am or accepting myself is more complicated than the theory of relativity.
Those times defined who I hide.
The hurtful whispers inside my head are a constant reminder of those days, a constant memory that will never leave my side, along with the insecurities and painful memories of the past.
My only sexual preference is for no one to find out what I like, or who I fuck. At thirty-three, I’ve given up and decided to live like the rest—under wraps.
ChapterThree
Matthew
I hate working in an office—scratchthat, atthisoffice.
White walls with old, framed movie posters. A few pictures of famous celebrities holding Oscars, Emmys, and other awards Transcending Productions have won throughout the years. A large, dark oak desk in the middle of the office. Even with the closed door, I feel vulnerable and at the mercy of the executives that have been here for years.
Everyone in this company watches my every move—all day long. I wish I could run away, but I can’t. A couple months ago, I finished my master’s degree in film and television production. The same day I received my degree, my father handed me his production company and retired.
He believes I’m capable of leading this company into the future, except I have to do it with the help of his executives.
“They have years of experience, Mattie.”Dad used the condescending tone I loathe but that he believes is caring.
The executives don’t know shit. Their only goal since I started working for this company has been to push me aside and for one of them to become president. As if I’ll let that happen. This is my father’s legacy, and even though I’m not completely invested at the moment, this will become my biggest accomplishment. I have to show my parents I’m capable. That no matter what, I can succeed like my brother and sister.
If I didn’t require permission from these clowns, I’d move the entire company closer to Seattle. I hate LA. The city, the entire Hollywood scene. For the past few years, most of our shoots have happened in Vancouver and Seattle.
Seattle—my home—the place I crave to live forever. That’s where my family lives and where I feel safe. But I’ll ride this out for now.
I’ll do it for Dad. He needs someone to take away some of his responsibilities so he can enjoy life. I need to show him I don’t need him to watch over me all the time.
I can’t quit, but I could use a distraction. Maybe I should head home, bring a few scripts to read over the weekend. I look at the pile of manuscripts my assistant brought me earlier today and go through them. Two hours later, I have at least four I can take home.
My phone rings just as I’m about to text Ainsley.
“Yeah?”
“When are you leaving for Seattle?” I take the phone off my ear to check the caller ID. Tristan Cooperson. This call takes me by surprise.
Last Monday he wasn’t pleased with me. In fact, on Tuesday, he emailed me his schedule, and there weren’t any planned trips for the next three months. He was going to handle everything from here.
“Tomorrow night, why?”
“I have to be there tomorrow morning, but there are no flights available. I was hoping you knew of a flight or a way to get there tonight.”
I check the time. Seven. Yep, he missed the last one at six thirty. I have memorized every freaking flight since I’ve been flying back and forth every week for the past six months. The only other way I know to get there is through my brother-in-law, Mason Bradley. He owns a few planes and has access to my parents’ private jet, plus he knows a few pilots. I shoot off a text to him.
Matt: Do you have a way to fly me back home tonight?
Bradley: Maybe. For the right price.
Matt: Seriously, dude? You’re a shitty brother-in-law and even shittier best friend.
I rub my temple thinking about my next move. Owing Bradley is close to selling my soul to Satan’s mistress.
