Page 29

All eyes are watching you when you’re on the pitcher’s mound.

The other team is waiting to see if you screw up, and your team is waiting on you to secure the win.

Being caught in the middle of everyone’s expectations always made me feel alone.

Forced me to steady my stance and roll my shoulders.

Breathe through the doubt. Hope for the best while preparing for the worst.

That’s what Pride felt like now.

I wound my arm back, lifting my leg up, and eyed the shop’s garbage can.

Then I let go of the doubt and followed through.

The rag shot out of my grip and thudded into the trash.

Strike! In my head, the crowd cheered over the chants from last night.

The mirror ball’s green light danced above me as I held my arms up in triumph. Nothing could screw up tonight—

The music cut off abruptly, a new-message notification echoing through Roaring Mechanics. I found my phone on top of the toolbox. Another alert dinged. What now? I groaned, opening three new messages from Sawyer.

Today at 7:23 PM

Sawyer

I know you left me on read

Sawyer

I’m serious Z it’s too dangerous tonight

Sawyer

If you’re gonna ignore me then fine but at least hear what I’m saying

I almost typed back. Almost made a snide remark that at least Cohen, of all people, was showing up to help.

But I forced myself to exit the thread and power off my phone.

It wasn’t that I was ignoring her per se.

More like she wouldn’t understand why tonight still had to happen.

So what if I was out of the QSA? The main part of the QSA was the A for “alliance.” It didn’t feel much like that anymore, not in Beggs or in my own life.

It was just me standing alone at that rally, too afraid to use my voice.

And the speakeasy was an escape from that.

She could wait until tomorrow for a reply.

I threw my phone in the toolbox, taking one last look at the decorations.

The garage of Roaring Mechanics was the same as it had been for the grand opening.

Streamers and lights hung from the ceiling beams, the rolled-out green carpet ready to welcome guests through the inflated archway…

But I’d added even more. I had emptied out every box of decorations that Mom had stored. Pride Month would go out with a bang.

My last stint as the King of Pride would be remembered.

All that was left to do was change out the shop’s music to the playlist I’d made and get ready.

For a brief moment, I wondered what I should wear to impress Mason.

Then I shook the thought from my mind as I took the flight of stairs up to the apartment.

It didn’t matter, he didn’t matter, whoever bedmas_22 was didn’t matter tonight.

The landline was ringing when I opened the apartment door.

I hesitated, worried it was my father again.

Worried that he’d somehow witnessed my panicked exit from the rally.

That doesn’t matter tonight either. I eased down the hallway and peered into the dinette/office.

The old-timey bells went silent, but they rang again as I reached my room.

I took a deep breath to ready myself and turned around. He didn’t get to make me second-guess myself. Not when he was the one being two-faced. Nothing he could say would ruin my night, but maybe I could guilt-trip him.

“What do you want?” I answered quickly. “Because I don’t want to—”

“Zeke?” Mom’s voice cut me off. “Hun, is everything okay?”

My grasp on the landline’s receiver slackened, and my head dropped back in relief. “Yeah?” I said, my tone lilting. “Why do you ask?”

The line crackled once, and then she said, “Tried calling your cell but it went straight to voicemail.”

“Sorry, uh, I…”

Turned my phone off so people would stop bothering me? I couldn’t tell her that, because then she’d ask why. She didn’t know that I’d gone to the rally or how much the hate in this town was starting to affect me. I didn’t feel like talking about either, just wanted to forget. At least for tonight.

“I was downstairs,” I finally replied, then bit my lip. “Uh, cleaning.”

“You were?” she asked.

“Thought I’d, uh, surprise you.” I’d have to clean again tomorrow before she got home anyway.

“That’s sweet of you, but you don’t have—”

“How’re things at the retreat?” I asked to distract her.

“Good…we…hike…” Her voice cut in and out, and then she said, “Sorry, bad service. We went on a hike to get in the spirit, and now we’re about to have charcuterie and wine to discuss.”

“That sounds fun,” I said absently, my mind focused on other things.

There was a moment of silence, static crackling as someone called for her in the background. “Be right there, Eileen,” she called back, and then to me, “We’re about to get started, but I wanted to check in to see if you were okay.”

“Yeah…Why?”

“I saw the Beggs Facebook Group.”

“Oh that, ” I said with a laugh, but she didn’t think it was funny.

“Mayor Buchanan’s angry because of some, what were they called? Underground events?” she asked with a note of skepticism. “Do you know anything about them?”

“That’s what he’s claiming.” My words were measured, emotionless. Not lies but misdirected truths. “And he’s got his asshairs in a knot.”

“Please promise you’ll be careful with the QSA tonight—”

“Yeah, I know.” I cut her off. “Be safe and—”

“Well, that too,” she inserted, her mouth close to the speaker, “but if anything happens while you’re doing the membership drive, don’t get sucked in. Just walk away.”

“I promise.”

A beat passed as she cleared her throat. “I’m holding you to that,” she threatened. I could practically see her facial expression, eyes narrowed and chin jutted.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll text you when I’m heading home tomorrow. Have a good night, and I love you, hun.”

“Have fun tonight. Love you too.”

We ended the call, and I strolled out of the dinette with a skip in my step. Tonight will be better than good, I assured myself. It’ll be great, incredible even. I needed to remember how it felt to be free, not terrified like I’d been at the rally.

Music thumped in the garage, the bass shaking the mirror ball. The spinning green reflections danced around the mass of bodies that’d packed inside. There were too many people to count, all of them bouncing in waves as Lady Gaga blasted from the speakers. But Cohen had bailed instead of showing up.

What a dick, I thought, shoving my anger back. Just like Sawyer and Kennedy. I don’t need his help anyway.

Sweat drenched my “Exterminate Hate” shirt, my hair dripping as I threw my head back.

I’d spent the last two hours dancing nonstop.

This was exactly what I needed—to not think of the mob of hate in the town square and the election.

There weren’t any vulgar looks or expectations here.

So I screamed along to the track as someone draped an arm around my shoulder.

Damian Jones leaned on me. He was laughing and swaying to the beat of the music. Our eyes met, both of us smiling. Could he be bedmas_22? I wondered, eyeing his sweaty shirt stuck to his broad chest. Maybe he isn’t straight—

“You’re killing it, Fastball!” he yelled over the music, leaning in close.

“Thanks for coming,” I tried to say, but my voice was lost in the crowd.

He wagged his brows at me and then bent down, his arm sliding down to wrap around my waist. The next thing I knew, he was hoisting me up on his shoulder as the crowd raged.

A laugh escaped me as he paraded me around.

It was just like when we’d won a baseball game, him chanting my name and me unable to stop grinning.

Because tonight really felt like a win.

I could see the entirety of Roaring Mechanics from this vantage point.

From the businesses tabling in the back to the mob gathering under the mirror ball, the party was in full swing.

It felt like we were all in a bubble of lightheartedness.

Never had I ever felt so sure of myself either.

That was one thing I’d learned from these speakeasies.

That first night Mason had told me no one would be here if it weren’t for me, and looking around only reminded me of that.

To see people I knew in real life—including my new friends Owen, Jess, and Bronwen—all together felt like the song’s bass rattling through me.

Every part of my body was alive from the music and high fives and cheers as Damian twirled me around.

My vision got lost in a blur of twinkling lights before focusing on someone pushing through the crowd. Cohen? His face was splotchy, eyes wild as he made his way to me. I tapped Damian’s very muscular shoulder to set me down.

“You didn’t dick out on me!” I yelled at Cohen as he neared.

His mouth moved, gaze shooting back to the entrance, but I only caught every other word. “Tried to text…called…even Instagram…your phone…”

“Sorry, I turned it off,” I shouted as the last notes of the song faded. “Sawyer was blowing it up, but I’m glad you actually came!”

“Shut up and listen, Zeke,” Cohen said, pulling me closer to him. “Mayor Buchanan knows. ”

“Yeah, he mentioned it at the rally—”

“No!” Cohen shook his head and placed his hands on both of my shoulders. “He knows the speakeasy is here tonight.”

It took a moment for his emphasis to register, and I blinked as my brain caught up. “What do you mean?” I asked, the levity draining from my system. All around us the crowd continued dancing as a new song came on. We stayed still, both of us locked in a stare. “How do you know?”

He brought his mouth right up to my ear, his breath hot.

“Someone tipped off Carmen at the campaign meeting, and I tried warning you.” He leaned back to look me in the eyes.

“Zeke, you have to listen. He’s coming to break this up tonight.

He’s gonna use it to his advantage to rally voters ahead of the election. ”

My heart thudded as I glanced around the garage, the harsh reality setting in. Breaking up an illegal Pride event would only strengthen what he’d said about the rec center. The speakeasy would give him the perfect ammunition to continue his hate-filled campaign.

“Cohen!” I yelled in terror. “I have to shut this down immediately!”

“No shit, that’s why I’m here.” He spared a soft smile and then motioned around us. “We have to go. Now.”

I nodded once and spun on my heels. He followed closely as I pushed through the crowd, elbowing my way to the back wall.

My laptop was connected to the sound system, just under the painting of Zelda.

She smiled down at me mischievously as I franticly typed in my password.

It was as though she knew what was happening, the rush of being raided by cops like the actual speakeasies of the 1920s.

The music stopped, and the wave of dancing bodies slowed to a standstill.

Heads began turning in search of what had happened.

Then I heard it: the sound of sirens in the distance—getting closer.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I sputtered, waving my arms. “YOU HAVE TO LEAVE! NOW! THE MAYOR IS COMING TO SHUT US DOWN!”

It took a second for my words to sink in before everyone started shoving toward the exit. Owen the ranger shepherded people through the lobby, but they wouldn’t all make it.

I rushed through the crowd with Cohen on my heels, pushing to the garage doors, and keyed in the code to open them. Metallic creaks sounded as they began rolling up. A mass of bodies began to flee into the night. Then I saw the flashing red and blue lights, and my heart seized with dread.

“This little Pride party is over!” A familiar twang reverberated, and I peeked around the corner to see Mayor Buchanan holding a megaphone. He was grinning wildly as people scattered around the cop cars, his eyes clocking every face that ran by.

Shit.

The panic from witnessing the rally rippled through me again, and I backed farther inside the garage. Cohen shook his head and tried to stop me. “Where are you going?” he asked. “We have to go.”

“There’s a back exit!” I yelled, grabbing his hand. “Come on.”

He didn’t hesitate, locking his fingers with mine and matching my pace. My dirt bike was parked out back. All we had to do was get the hell out before the mayor saw me. Before he had proof that I was behind Pride.