“Don’t go…okay? Until we talk some more.”
And then he’s sleeping. He’s sleeping, and I am crawling out of my skin with the need to know if he means what he’s saying. Trying to remind myself that even if he does, it doesn’t matter because he will never choose to do the things he’d need to do to be with me. And I don’t judge him for that. In my worst moments, I’m angry. But mostly, I understand. I respect him, and I get why he is like he is. He’s Luke. I fucking love him, too, but this will never work.
I text Pearl. Hey. I need to leave tomorrow.
Okay, she replies. Would you like me to switch shifts with you?
That would be good.
She’s typing. I see the little bubbles. Then she isn’t. I set my phone down and fuck around his room. I read a magazine—Wired. Then step into the bathroom, wash my hands, and look into my own eyes in the mirror.
When I sit back in my bedside chair, I check my phone. There’s a text from Pearl.
Vance—stay where you are. Don’t move, don’t leave the room. Don’t turn the TV on, okay? I’ll update you soon.* * *The video hit 4chan first. It didn’t catch on there, partly because they didn’t believe it was authentic. Who was I? ‘No random pastor’s fuck boy looks like that guy.’ Someone else puts forth the theory that my voice doesn’t match the movement of my mouth. Still another on 4chan says that the wall behind us, and the curtains, don’t match the look of the ER in UCSF Hospital.
Their disbelief bought us most of the day before Pearl arrived. Sometime overnight, though, or today, the videographer must have found some way to verify his or her wares. A British tabloid bought the footage, and it spread like California wildfire.
Pearl and I switch shifts as an ambulance disguised as an SUV preps to take Luke to his house for privacy, security. I put on my hoodie’s hood and slip out a side door, into the fresh air and the sun for the first time in five days.
I call a rideshare and take it to my hotel. I never paid, but they’ve still got my stuff behind the desk. I get a room there again, wanting to just hunker down and be anonymous. When the woman hands me my key, she winks and says, “I believe in all love.”
Fuck.
Pearl can read my mind from across town. She calls within just a minute of me getting into my new room.
“Listen, Vance, I think you need to be careful about where you stay. That townhouse, you know—or maybe you don’t—but it isn’t rented. That’s McDowell property. Are you open to going back there? Or will you be going back home?”
I laugh. It sounds rough and cold. I swallow. “Negatory.”
I don’t have the balls to ask her where they are. Are they at Luke’s now? Does he know what happened? Does he hate me yet?
“Honestly, Vance…we’re almost to his house, and he’s asked for you two times already. I don’t want to tell you what to do but…”
“I can come. What’s the best way for me to get there?”
Pearl tells me about a secret gate you get to through the neighbors’ fence. “It’s a man I know—who has a son that’s trans—so that’s a good thing for us. I’ll call ahead and let him know you’re coming through there. He’ll get it.”
I feel like I might be sick.
“Does Luke know?” I rasp.
“No. It’s me and Arman with him. No staff at his house. No one is going to tell him yet.”
Thick heat moves all through my face and chest. I feel kind of dizzy.
“Also. Vance. It’s going to be okay.”
I can’t speak. I can’t even swallow.
I get to Luke’s house after dark and Pearl meets me at the garage door. She hugs me. As we step inside, she stops and looks over her shoulder.
“Steven.” She moves past me, holding out her hand to shake the hand of a huge, fro’d guy. “Steven, this is Vance Rayne.”
He nods. “Hey, Vance. I’m one of the pastor’s body guards.”
Turns out, guards are being posted all around the place. Because Pearl chose to bring Luke here instead of somewhere off the grid.
“Nothing’s going to happen. But you know how people are. It’s better to be careful.”
We move through the kitchen, and I meet Pearl’s husband. Arman is a gentle giant, six-foot-four, with glasses and a baby face. He’s soft spoken and nice. He hands me a glass of water, and Pearl says, “Vance. Go sit on the couch.”
Arman brings me a second glass—this one a vodka drink that feels like heaven as it burns my throat—and Pearl turns on the fireplace.
“When’s the last time you ate something, Vance?”
Pearl gives me a few food choices. I don’t really pick one, but she returns a few minutes later with a plate of waffles. Arman gives me a kind smile before he disappears down the hall. A strange spear of jealousy spikes through me. I feel the old magnet tug to be in his room. No one else. Just me.