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Eddie let out the breath burning his lungs. The hand that his dad held shook, and he clenched his jaw to stop the sob from breaking free from his chest. Instead, he shifted closer, practically crawling onto his dad like he’d done as a wee baby and clutched him close. The tears came nevertheless, but his dad’s arms around him were everything he needed. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I was scared to tell you.”
“Your mum and I kind of guessed a while ago.”
“Why? Because I like dancing?” It was the same conclusion Duncan and Harry had reached, except they hadn’t known the truth until Harry had overheard him and Jess talking.
“No.” He laughed. “Because you drew love hearts on your sister’s poster of that boy band. Who were they again?”
“One D,” Eddie supplied, then realized that he’d just admitted to knowing exactly what poster his dad was talking about. “Adele did that,” he lied.
“No, she didn’t.” His dad smiled and whispered conspiratorially, “Your mum saw you doodling on it but didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to force you to tell us before you were ready.”
“Thanks, Dad,” he mumbled. “I was still scared to tell you even though it’s probably obvious to everyone.”
“People will run their mouths without thinking and let their minds take them to some strange places. You can’t stop people doing that. But you can control what you think and do. Stop living for them and live for you. Be proud of who you are.” His dad tweaked Eddie’s nose. “I’m proud of you, and so is your mum.” He leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Now, how about we ice that shoulder so you can dance at the concert and get some ice cream into you.”
*****
The applause from the crowd was deafening. It wasn’t the first time Eddie had danced in a theatre, but this one was bigger than anything he’d ever been in before. Tiered seating extended up with row upon row of filled seats. The two giant screens facing the audience illuminated the first few rows, letting him see the faces in the crowd. He spotted his parents and brothers and sisters cheering him on. Jess too. All of them were standing now with the other families in an ovation that rejuvenated itself like waves on a beach—cresting and washing over them again every time it started to peter out. The stage lights dimmed and screens blacked out, lengthening the shadows onstage as the long red velvet curtains on either side of them began to close smoothly.
Eddie couldn’t wipe the smile from his face, even as the curtain slowed to a stop, separating the dancers and elite public school orchestra from the audience. He never wanted the performance to end. He was bouncing out of his skin, giddy with an adrenaline high. His shoulder had held up, thanks to his mum strapping it tightly, and he’d pulled every move off with a perfection he’d never dared hope for.
This was it.
His moment.
Pride welled inside him, a foreign feeling to Eddie. He’d persevered. He’d pushed through the taunts and teasing, the fear of getting beaten to a pulp again to make it this far. Now that he knew what it was like to dance on a big stage, he wanted to do again and again. He never wanted to stop.
The lessons were gruelling, rehearsals more so. Pain had become a constant. Blisters and strained muscles and torn ligaments were things he dealt with daily. But like a path being lit before him, he knew that this concert was only the beginning of his journey. Tonight’s performance had crystalized what he already knew in his mind—his future was on a stage. This was him. Eddie was a dancer. He was put on this earth to perform.
And he’d done it defiantly wearing a rainbow pin.
There was no doubt in Eddie’s mind that everyone had seen it. The cameras had beamed their images to the screens on either side of the stage, emblazoning him in fine detail to every seat in the theatre. He’d done it despite his dance teacher’s insistence to remove it from his full-body white Lycra costume. There were important people in the audience, she’d said, and she didn’t want any political statements being made. Eddie didn’t care whether he was making a broader political statement. The pin for him was acutely personal. This was him owning every part of himself. His dad’s support and the conversation he’d had with his mum later that same night had empowered him. She’d opened up his world, given him a name for what he was other than faggot, and called up a support line with him to prove that he wasn’t alone. She showed him that his people were out there. So, this was him taking back control from his bullies. Whatever happened from then on, he’d face it head-on and be bloody fabulous doing it.
His dance teacher waited with a lady on the sidelines. Wearing a pantsuit, she looked out of place next to his dance teacher in her brightly coloured flowing kaftan layered with mismatched scarves and leggings to ward off the chill of the autumn air. The clipboard the lady held caught his attention. Bottle green with a logo emblazoned on it in gold, he couldn’t see what it was, but he recognized the outline of a pointed toe in ballet slippers. His teacher waved him over. “Go get your parents, Eddie. This nice lady wants to talk to you all.”
He looked at the stranger, assessing her. Why did she want to speak with them? She shifted and smiled, and Eddie’s heart stopped beating. RCA—Royal College of the Arts—was printed on the folder. The school for talented artists and performers of every persuasion. The dream destination for every dancer, singer, musician, writer, artist, you name it. Eddie’s eyes widened, and he looked up at her. When she nodded in encouragement, he sprinted to the edge of the stage, leaping off it, and raced out through the door into the theatre. Scanning the empty rows and crowds meandering out to the foyer of the grand old building, he shouted, “Penny, Charlie!” Heads turned, and he saw his parents. Waving at them and bouncing on his feet, he pleaded with them, excitement pitching his voice higher. “I need you. Come quick!”
People shifted, and their group bucked the tide of people, travelling towards the front of the stage once more. When they were in front of him, Eddie couldn’t contain his excitement anymore. “There’s someone here from RCA. They want to talk to you. About me. C’mon, let’s go.” He grabbed his dad’s sport jacket and tugged on the sleeve, dragging him along with him.
“Calm down, son. We’re coming.” Eddie threw a look over his shoulder and saw his dad’s excited grin. “This is it, Eddie. The next step.”
And he was right.
two
Will
Ten Years Ago
Exhaustion washed over him as the lift doors slid open on the seventh floor. His blinks were getting longer, each one painful. The grit from the dry plane air scratched the sensitive surface of his eyes with each slow movement. Will needed a shower and a bloody long sleep. His three-month rotation onboard the cruise ship had been brutal. Like any FIFO worker, he needed a few days to sleep away the virtually relentless sixteen-hour days. The twenty-hour flight stuck in cattle class between two much larger, albeit shorter people, one of whom had used him as a pillow, hadn’t helped. He didn’t sleep a wink the entire flight.
Will slumped against the front door and fumbled the keys, dropping them onto the mottled brown carpet that hadn’t been changed since the eighties. His hands weren’t working properly; his brain was operating in survival mode with one message only: sleep.
He knocked, but no one answered.
Groaning as he reached for the keys, every muscle in his body protested the movement. Will clutched them and managed to slide the right one into the lock of the Seattle apartment he shared with his husband. All he wanted was to fall into Stefan’s arms. He’d missed him. Missed his fiery temper, acerbic tongue, and quick wit. Missed the passion that ignited between them like an out of control wildfire when they were in the same room. He missed seeing Stefan in the morning, pulling every piece of clothing out of his wardrobe until he found the perfect combination for his mood. He had a dress sense that many would find garish, but Will was envious of it. He couldn’t pull off that flamboyant a style. The mix of bright colours and pastels, tight jeans, and sexy stiletto heels were too loud for Will’s more muted fashion choices.
The click of the teeth sliding into place in the lock was loud in the silent hallway. It wasn’t late—barely past nine at night—but the neighbours were all safely ensconced in their warm apartments. He turned the knob and pushed the door open. The two lamps on either side of their couch were set to low, the heavy curtains drawn closed, a barrier to the winter chill that would steal through the apartment given a chance. Closing the door quietly, he shrugged off his coat and scarf and slid the gloves off his hands. Before stepping away from the tiled square at his front door, he kicked his boots off and sighed at the warmth that had already begun to defrost his bones. Winter in Seattle was brutal, especially when he’d come directly from the tropical summer of the Coral and Timor Seas. The temperature was four times the maximum daily that Seattle typically reached at that time of year.
