something we don’t talk about, right? Because Megan, like, she dragged me to the bonfire. And she keeps chatting with people, and, like, they’re like, ‘Hey why are you here? You hate this shit.’ ” He’s repeating himself, throwing around the word like to delay it as long as he can. I need him to get to the point, or else my grip on the phone might break it. “And she keeps responding that she had plans to video chat with you, but you’re too …”
He stops.
“Fuck.” Fuck. “Say it.”
“… busy with your boyfriend to give her the time of day anymore. She’s said it to, like, ten people. I keep trying to stop her, but I literally can’t.”
So this is bad. This is bad, and I’m sinking to my knees and I’m on the ground. Sitting. Pierce is coming over, and I think I dropped the phone because Skye’s still talking but it’s too far away for me to make out what he’s saying and I shut down I shut the fuck down because what else do I do here no I am actually asking what the fuck do I …
TWENTY-FOUR
“Marty.”
Headache. Pounding headache. It’s fuzzy in here.
“Marty.”
That’s definitely my name. But who’s saying it? Are my eyes open? “Ugh,” I grunt.
My eyelids peel apart and light floods my pupils. I’m lying back on a bed, head resting against a soft pillow with something cold on my head. Pierce appears in my vision, and when he picks up the dripping rag from my forehead, water hits my face.
“What happened?”
He leans in, cups my face with his hand, and plants a kiss on my dry lips. His hands stay there. His lips stay too. When he pulls away, I see the creases in his expression, the glossiness in his eyes.
“You passed out. Scared the fuck out of me, Mart.”
I groan. “People actually do that? I thought fainting was just in the movies. Why did I—”
The call. Skye’s voice.
Megan.
The bonfire.
My whole constructed world falling apart.
“Oh.”
“Mm-hmm,” Pierce mumbles. “I talked to Skye about it once you dropped your phone—he was freaked too, but I let him know you’re alive. I can’t believe she did that to you. I thought she was your friend. Your best friend.”
“I don’t know.” And I really don’t. “Megan’s view of right and wrong is warped. Once there’s bad blood with someone, I’ve seen her justify about anything.”
He laughs drily. “She has her own narrative about what happened. I’ve never heard someone so delusional.”
“How would you know that?” I ask.
“Your mate, Skye, kept saying he tried to stop her. But sounds like he was a bit of a pushover—he was scared of her, like you.”
“I’m not—”
He holds a finger to my lips. “She controlled you, she used your anxiety against you, both you and Skye are terrified of her. But I’m not.”
A sourness hits my stomach, and I know he’s right.
“I didn’t want to overstep, but I made Skye give her the phone and informed her that outing someone was an assault, that she was putting you in danger, and that she could be in legal trouble. I said I’d be getting an advocate on the phone on Monday. I think she knew I was pulling all of this out of thin air, but she stopped.”
“The damage was already done,” I say, bringing him into a hug. “But thank you for fighting for me.”
My emotions are one big jumble. I’m angry, defeated, and almost broken, but my home here has softened the blow. It’s giving me hope that one day I can return to Kentucky, fully out, without caring what people think. I can almost see that Marty.
“Do you think your parents will find out?” he asks.
I give a shallow laugh. “I’m out, Pierce. I actually told my parents first, then Megan. But no one there needed to know, you know? There are only a handful of people I trust there, and even so, you never know if they’re a cool, respectful person in the streets, but—I don’t know—go to Klan meetings at night?”
“That’s still a thing?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Point is, I didn’t tell them because I wanted to be able to go back without being the news. I hate knowing that, right now, people are talking about it. Me living in London was one thing people will never understand, but this is another thing. This is how they define people over there. I liked being the guy who stayed in the background, played the hell out of his oboe,