Page 246 of For the Fans

Father McAdams.

I never liked being around the man. He’d always given off a yucky vibe, but the problem was that there was no evidence of his wrongdoing.Not yet, anyway.It was just a feeling, like when there’s a gas leak. You can’t see anything, but you know it’s there, and you know it’s very harmful.

Father McAdams had taken a shine to me, and was always saddling me with new responsibilities, acting like they werespecialand only tasked to the best kids. But really, it was just busy work. Moving things in his office, helping him set up before mass. The only thing that made it slightly tolerable was that a few of my friends were there too, including Cody.

I caught Father McAdams watching Cody and me once, after we’d been talking and joking around, as we did. And the feeling of him staring at me stood all the hairs on the back of my neck on end.

The summer when I was twelve was understandably my last time at church camp. I had already been planning on asking my dad if I could stop going, seeing if maybe there was a football camp or something I could do instead that would be more in line with what I actuallywanted, and not six weeks spent listening tothe same stories being told over and over again by the hive-mind of our counselors.

It wasn’t unusual for some of the local parish priests to make appearances at camp, for special services and whatnot. But when Father McAdams showed up on the last night to observe our youth prayer circle, I knew right away something didn’t feel right.

He’d been coming at me more and more lately with all the things I now recognize asgrooming, in a way. Paying special attention to me, offering me things, trying to get me alone. It was easier to rebuff when other people were around.

But on that last night, he managed to corner me when I was alone.

There are a lot of reasons why it hurts to think about these things… Why remembering it all, and so vividly, causes me an emotional pain so strong I can actuallyfeelit in parts of my body; like the way it turns and clenches my stomach, burns like acid in my throat, and triggers stiffness in my knees and my back.

But the main reason is knowing how badly my trauma fucked me up. How far back it set me, mentally.

That man stole the comfort I’d had in myself. The experience stunted my self-awareness. It was like one big explosion that leads to the collapse of an entire city. The abuse, me telling my father and his denial, my family’s deterioration… it all buried me, thereal me, in years of rubble.

I knew who I was, and I was ready to grow into that person. But hestolemy identity. He, and my father, forced me into shame and remorse that wasn’t mine.

And so, like a form of fight-or-flight response, I ran away from the truth and recoiled into the image of a new Kyran Harbor. The straight boy who focused on only school, and girls, and sports, becoming popular as a means of control. A mask towear, one so believable, evenIbegan to feel like it was the real me.

I stuffed my truth down for years, fought against it tooth and nail. Even after Avi and I started our business, I told myself repeatedly that it was just that; a means to make money. But the whole time, in my bones, I knew it was a lie.

Being with Avi… being close to him, seeing and feeling and breathing with him, all those things we did together… it’s what set me free.Hewas the shovel, slowly scooping away the debris to uncover the real Kyran from where he’d been buried alive.

It was never a choice, and I know that now because despite everything I did to cover it up, itstillcame back to me.Icame back.

I don’t want to lie anymore. I don’t want torunanymore…

Which,yes, sounds idiotic coming from someone who’s literally running away as we speak. But this time, I’m not running. I’mdriving.

Driving on new roads, to clear my head and find myself. So that the next time I knock on his door, there won’t be a shred of doubt.

The real Kyran Harbor wouldn’t bealivewithout Avi Vega.

He’s my reason, my rescue.

Slow down, broken boy… and let him catch you.

What a difference a week can make…

When I left Somerville, after packing up my stuff and moving out of the Walsh dorms at BC, I wasn’t really sure what I plannedto do. All I knew was that I needed to get away and prepare myself for some major internal reorganizing.

I knew I wanted to be alone for a while—at first, anyway—to get my thoughts together before the next part of my plan. So I rented a Mercedes SUV for the drive, just like the one I got when I took Avi to the drive-in. And no, that’s not a coincidence.

I wanted to feel closer to him throughout this process, knowing full-well I’d be forcing myself to ignore his calls and texts the entire time.

It’s beenkillingme not to talk to him… but I know it’s necessary.

Getting the real Kyran back is work I need to domyself. I can’t put it all on Avi. Sure, in many ways, he saved me, and I want him to know that. I hate the idea that he might think I left because I don’t love him… Ido. His love is what’s kept me driving when so many times I thought about turning back; giving up on this mission to fix myself and just going back home.

But I don’t want to return to him half-hearted. Because the real Kyran is still a stubborn control-freak in a lot of ways. He’s a determined motherfucker. Sets his mind to something and makes it happen.

No more hiding. No more doing what I think will look the best.