Page 118 of String Boys

“But Seth, what are you going to—”

Seth’s look alone stopped him. “Well, if the police show up at my door, I’m going to answer their questions. They may believe me, they may not believe me. I may go to jail, I may not. If Idogo to jail, I’ll get out, live my life, and hope my boyfriend waited for me. If Idon’t, I’ll finish the trial and hope my boyfriend waited for me. Either way, I’ll be able to see you and your family and my dad and Chloe, which is something I can’t do right now. And I won’t have this shit hanging over my head anymore. Did I cover it?”

Kelly sagged into his double bed. “Yeah. Yeah, you covered it. You know, if you get busted, maybe we can hire a super-spiffy lawyer and you can get a book deal out of it.”

Seth half laughed. “Yeah. That’s my priority. Fame.” He sagged into the mattress, suddenly looking as tired as Kelly felt, and it hit Kelly, not for the first time, that Seth was carrying more than a full college load. His classes were performance classes, and in spite of Seth’s dreaminess—or maybe because of it—he spent more time in practice for a performance than Kelly knew he spent on homework for regular academic work.

“Sorry.” Seth yawned. “Had two performances at the Stomp this week—Fiddler and the Crabs is our name now, and I guess it’s caught on. Anyway, the quartet had a couple of gigs and a practice and….” He yawned again. “A gig tomorrow. I hope you don’t mind. You can hang out with Amara if you want. Guthrie can take me—”

“Guthrie?” Kelly’s palm still stung from that smack, and now he wanted to smack Guthrie’s blond surfer face. “Why’s he—” Oh yeah. There was no way in hell Kelly wasn’t going tothatperformance.

“They wanted someone who can play triangle and xylophone. He’s trying to earn money for school, and the ladies in the group seemed to like him.” Seth frowned, his eyes small and puffy in the darkness. Kelly was keeping a very tired man up. Seth sagged into the bed. “You like him, right?”

And Kelly had to be honest. “I’d like him more if he loved you less.”

Seth grunted. “Don’t mind Amara. I think she wanted to crush on Guthrie a little, but I’ll tell you something—I don’t think he likes women as much as he said he did. I’ve met some bi guys and girls here at school, and they date or crush on both. But I really think Guthrie’s not… you know….”

“Bi?” Kelly couldn’t stop his eye roll. “Yeah, I know. And I think Amara’s right too.” That look on Guthrie’s face—the one that said he wanted what was best for Seth, even if it wasn’t him. “I think he’s been in love with you since Christmas.”

Seth whined. “Oh shit. Do you need me to walk away from him? You know, stop seeing him? That would sort of suck—that’s both my jobs—”

“No.” Kelly wished they were having sex again. “No. Vashti broke up with his boyfriend, and he’s been looking at me hopefully again, but I don’t want to quit. You don’t need to.” He sighed and kissed Seth’s shoulder with all the tenderness in his heart. “You’d tell me, though, right? You’d tell me if I needed to walk away? You’d say, ‘Kelly, I love you, but it’s just too hard. Can you walk away?’”

Suddenly Seth’s eyes were very wide and very focused. “I willnevertell you to walk away,” he said, and Kelly heard the ring of a vow in his voice. “You willneverhear me say that.”

Kelly felt his lips tilt up, and for a moment, he tried to contain his expression. But he couldn’t. It should have been old. They’d been telling each other they were in love for getting close to four years now, but the joy, the pride of it, it hadn’t gotten dim or sad or easy.

It had only gotten more intense, more real, with every stolen moment.

“Good,” he whispered. “Good.”

He fell asleep holding Seth close, his palm still tingling, his heart still raw.

But Seth’s vow rang in his ears. “I willnevertell you to walk away.”

It sustained him. It sustained him through the next morning, watching Seth perform in a cheap tuxedo that nobody saw, because he played like an angel—while Guthrie tried not to watch him with limpid, tragic eyes. It fed him through Sunday evening, when he’d had to drive home alone, heart aching, already exhausted by the week ahead.

It sustained him through the next few months, when Seth kept sending him pictures of Fiddler and the Crabs as they played a little holiday tour with Seth as their headliner—Seth said they made a ton.

It was food for Thanksgiving, when Seth couldn’t come visit because, sure enough, his picture was on every telephone pole for a mile, but nobody could recognize him because it had been three years, and even Kelly hadn’t realized how much softness he’d had around the chin.

Kelly’s birthday night was rough. Vashti and the people from work took him out to Gatsby’s Nick, and he was too young to be served alcohol, but he went out onto the dance floor and let the music take him over, bopping up and down and losing himself in the press of bodies. When he came off the floor, Vashti insisted on a selfie, him in the middle, Marcos and Clifton in front of him, Vashti kissing his cheek.

He sent it to Seth, not thinking, really, about how Seth must be missing him, but Seth’s text to him was a sober reminder.

Do you need me to walk away?

NO! But I wouldn’t mind a birthday call tomorrow morning.

Deal.

Seth had called—and flowers had arrived, which had apparently been delayed the day before—and they were okay until the trip to Monterey, but Kelly knew now how they would handle the end if it ever came.

Do you need me to walk away?

Kelly was pretty sure he never could.

The View from Mars