Page 30

Warm night air blew through my sweat-damp hair as we darted along the back roads.

Cohen wore my helmet, his arms tightly wrapped around my waist. My heart was racing along with the dirt bike’s warbling engine.

There had been no time to think, only seconds to jump on the seat and get as far away as possible.

I needed to pull over and get my shit together.

But I could still hear the mayor’s voice, still hear the shouts of the rally.

Panicked adrenaline kept me driving. My body tensed with pressure as I gave it some gas, and I startled when Cohen let go of my waist. The comfort of his touch fell away, and it was like I was alone all over again.

“There,” he called, pointing toward the Beggs Nature Preserve entrance.

He held on again, and I leaned back into his warmth as I turned off the road.

I slowed to a stop in a patch of moonlight and took a deep breath, killing the engine. Silence thrummed between the cicadas as I strained to hear if anyone had followed us. At least it was secluded enough here to buy time until I could figure out what to do next.

“I think we’re safe,” I said, voice unsteady as I released the kickstand.

“That was terrifying as fuck,” Cohen said with a huff. He released his grip to slide off the back, and I missed it again. Missed how safe I felt being hugged closely. By him. “Think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Me too,” I said absently, standing from the seat with wobbly legs. “We almost got caught.” He took the helmet off, shaking his head at me. “What?”

“I meant your driving,” he said with a snort, bending over to catch his breath. “God, I don’t know what was worse, having to save your ass or endure that ride from hell.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” I mumbled, and he gave me a look that begged to differ. “Okay, I might’ve taken a few turns too fast—”

“All the turns,” he said, letting the helmet drop to the ground.

I nodded once, crossing my hands over my chest. Rapid-fire memories shot through me as I stared up at the moon. Sawyer saying it was dangerous, reckless, that I would get caught. She’d been right, and now…I’d handed Mayor Buchanan the election.

“Zeke, are you okay?” Cohen asked, a steady hand on my shoulder. At some point, I’d slumped down onto the gravel and started breathing heavy. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“No,” I managed to say. “You were right.”

“About what?” he asked, squatting down beside me. “The mayor shutting down the speakeasy? Because, yes, I was right about that, and I’m so glad I got to you in time.”

I wanted to tell him this wasn’t funny. That me fucking up wasn’t a joke anymore. I couldn’t begin to process what had just happened. My frazzled brain was glitching as he peered at me, drenched in moonlight. “I meant when you said I was a bad gay.”

“Not this again,” he sighed. “I didn’t mean—”

“No, you were absolutely right. About me, about all this.” I could already hear Buchanan at his next rally, bragging about shutting down Pride once and for all. “I’ve only given the mayor more ammunition for his campaign, and votes for Carmen won’t amount to—”

“Look at me,” Cohen ordered. “You’re panicking. Take a deep breath. We’re okay, and everything you’ve done has only shined a light on what the people of Beggs really want. Your speakeasies are the reason why Carmen has a chance of winning, so don’t beat yourself up over what happened back there.”

“But…” I felt too many emotions coursing through me, my father’s dismissiveness about the election joining the fray. “What’s gonna happen? People here…some don’t want us in Beggs. I saw the rally”—my breaths were uneven, and it felt like my heart would explode—“and it was bad. I’m…I’m scared.”

“Take a deep breath,” he said again.

I nodded, trying to inhale.

“It’ll be okay,” he continued in a soft voice. “Everyone you brought together, those are the people Carmen is speaking up for. They won’t forget what you’ve done for them.”

I shook my head, everything he just said rolling over me. “What if I m-messed it up, though?” I asked, wiping at my nose. “M-maybe my father was right—”

“Don’t you ever say that again.” He cut me off. “You told me everything I need to know about him in our messages…Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Our messages?” I asked, gawking at him.

“Um.” He flushed, the moonlight giving away the sudden blush across his cheeks. “On Instagram…”

The synapses in my brain were misfiring as I tried to make sense of him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“It was me, okay?” He gave me an apologetic smile. “I thought you knew the whole time, but then you said I was Mason—”

“Y-you ?” I sputtered in shock.

He looked away, tongue licking at his bottom lip. “I really wanted to talk to you after I was an asshole at the rec center, so I sent a DM on Insta…”

He has been messaging me this whole time.

The artsy photos, the fact that I hadn’t followed Cohen since freshman year, how he asked about my father after I’d revealed too much to him at the rec center—it was beginning to add up. And it pissed me off so much that I got to my feet.

“What the actual fuck, Cohen?” I hissed, throwing my hands up. “How the hell was I supposed to know ‘bedmas’ was you?”

“Does it matter?” He scrambled to his feet. “Because I meant everything I said to you.”

I didn’t know how to begin processing his confession, but I knew one thing for certain: I’d meant everything I said in the DMs too. I’d confided in him and shared secrets I’d told no one, secrets he didn’t deserve to know. Now…

“Yes, it matters,” I answered. My voice came out tight, like all the air had been sucked from my lungs. “You could’ve, I dunno”—I tried to breathe—“texted me if it was so important.”

He nervously ran a hand through his cowlicked hair, ragged breaths matching my own.

His eyes were trained on his shoes as he toed the gravel.

“I couldn’t do that, Zeke. I didn’t want to see our old texts.

” He gulped and cut his gaze up to me. “I didn’t want to be reminded of how much of a dick I was to you.

I thought if I DM’d you, it’d be like a fresh start. ”

I never want to talk to you again. His last text still hurt, still burned in my memory. No matter how many times I tried to delete the thread, I couldn’t.

“Why…why did you want to talk to me?” I asked, blinking away the past.

His laughter was broken, a choked ha-ha . “I spent the last three years hating you, and it wasn’t fair. When you told me about your dad, I thought maybe we could be friends again. The longer we talked, it felt like maybe we could go back to before. Now that I know everything—”

“You’re not supposed to know!” It was a strangled cry echoing into the night. Traitorous tears fell, and I wiped them away. My voice lowered to a rough whisper. “And I can’t go back to how it was before.” Who I was before.

“I’m sorry.” He looked at me helplessly, shoulders slumped. “When I found out you thought I was Mason at the last speakeasy, I tried to tell you…but I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“You said there was so much pressure with your dad and Sawyer”—his throat bobbed as he swallowed—“and having Mason to talk to made it bearable. I just…Zeke, I didn’t want you to be alone in all that.”

He looked up at me through his long eyelashes, and it took me back to all those quiet moments we’d shared. I couldn’t separate the implications of the raid and his revelation. It was dividing me into a disagreement of emotions: shock and anger and panic and hurt and embarrassment.

I was so goddamn embarrassed by everything that’d happened tonight.

My hands balled into fists, and the gravel scattered as I kicked at the ground. As I stomped over to the dirt bike and threw the helmet at him without another word. Everything was falling apart, and I didn’t know how to fix it.

My skin crawled, like bugs were burrowing just underneath. I couldn’t scratch the feeling away no matter how much I tried. That unnerving squirm started at my feet and moved up my legs to my stomach, wriggling around my neck as I took in the damage.

Roaring Mechanics was a mess. Most of the decorations had been destroyed in the mass exit, cast aside like garbage on the art deco floor.

I stood in the middle of the shop watching the morning sun glisten off the green shatters of the mirror ball.

Its pieces covered the same spot where we’d been standing when the raid started.

When Buchanan and his homophobic cronies had come rushing into the one place that felt safe.

The dread that weighed me down after the raid had followed me back to the shop. Cohen had given me an awkward wave goodbye and left me standing at the entrance, my anger over his deceit drowned out by worry. Unable to go inside, I’d gotten on my dirt bike again and ridden until daybreak.

The back of my neck itched, and I raised an arm to scratch it.

The waft of adrenaline from my sweat-caked shirt made me want to go upstairs and shower.

Fall into bed and close my eyes and forget.

But I couldn’t. This felt exactly like being up on the billboard catwalk all over again.

Lonely and terrifying. I could hear the yells from the mayor’s rally between every deep inhale, see the faces of his supporters when I blinked.

Everything had fallen apart so quickly, and I needed to put it back together.

The number one priority was to clean before Mom got back.

That I can handle, I assured myself. Then I can worry about how much trouble I’m in and what will happen…

My thoughts spiraled as I forced my feet toward the supply closet in the back.

Every step crunched over debris, memories ricocheting through me.

Bodies thrashing to leave and shouts echoing off the shop floor, the mayor’s twang plucking at my insides and my father’s warning to keep my head down.

Panic surged through me.

My lungs burned.

I was suffocating.

The lid of the shoebox closed over me, and my vision went dark. I reached out to steady myself but slumped against the closet door. The pressure in my chest was swelling. I couldn’t—

Breathe, I told myself. My heart ached, my chest threatening to explode with each agonizing thud. The shop slid sideways, and I was on the floor. Hurt rattled my brain as I finally inhaled with a gasp, with the jarring realization of what this meant.

If I’d just stayed silent like my father had wanted, if I’d stopped acting so gay…

then none of this would have happened. I had wanted to prove I was good enough, but all I’d done was screw everything up.

I was the reason Mayor Buchanan had rolled out his new One Lifestyle ordinance, and even if the QSA got enough sign-ups, there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d allow—

The sound of keys jingling in the lock cut through the noise in my head, and then the door opened. I lay there as my breaths quickened. How long have I been here? I wondered in confusion, and then: Oh my god, Mom.

I listened to her steps as she crossed toward the staircase up to the apartment. Her pace got slower, and then an intake of breath. “Anthony Zeke Chapman!” she yelled, her voice racing up the stairs. “Get down here right now!”

Fuck.

“Mom,” I tried to say, sitting up. My voice was uneven, and I cleared the emotion from it. “I’m sorry.”

She spun around with irritation burning in her eyes. “What the…” Her words fell short, and then she was striding toward me. “Hun, are you okay?” she asked, the fury receding. “You’re crying.”

I am? Reaching up, I felt the wetness on my cheeks. “Sorry, Mom,” I said. “I’m…I’m…” More tears came then. Because I wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay.

“Zeke,” she began with concern, “what happened?”

“I messed…everything…up,” I managed to say through labored breaths. “I’m…sorry.”

She eased down to her knees, her eyes locking on mine. “Take a breath,” she instructed.

I inhaled, wiping at the tears and snot.

Exhaled until my lungs emptied and my chest felt hollow.

She rubbed my arm as I repeated myself, patiently waiting for me to explain.

There was no getting out of it, out of everything that had gone down.

Not after last night. I took another deep breath and launched into an explanation.

How I’d had the idea to have speakeasies after the mayor canceled Pride Day, and how they’d got out of hand.

How it was about more than just us volunteering at the rec center, and how the mayor’s rally had proved my father right.

“No, he wasn’t right,” she corrected.

“He warned me,” I countered. “Maybe if I’d kept quiet—”

“Staying quiet isn’t the answer,” she interrupted. “You did the right thing.”

“How?” I turned toward her in disbelief, gesturing at the wrecked garage. “ How is this right?”

“Maybe not this,” she said while she eyed the broken mirror ball. “And don’t think you’re not in so much trouble for doing it either, but you did what was right.”

“No…I’m the reason for the One Lifestyle ordinance.” Reckless and dangerous. Sawyer was right. I just wanted to be helpful, and now I’d ruined everything.

“Don’t blame yourself for that, Zeke.” She wiped away a tear from my cheek. “I know what’s happening in Beggs is awful, just like all the other crap happening in Alabama. This would’ve happened regardless of you making space for yourself…and ruining my mechanic shop in the process.”

“Sorry about that,” I said quickly. “Really. I wasn’t thinking, and…why are you smiling?”

“Because you stood up for yourself the only way you knew how, and it makes sense.” She laughed, each chuckle a long exhale. “You’re just like me. And I know you’ll keep fighting.”

I snorted once in a hiccup of emotion. “Does that mean I’m off the hook?”

“Absolutely not,” she deadpanned. “There are rules about kids having parties while their parents are away. You’re gonna have to clean all this up.”

“Okay, fair.” I chewed on my lip, looking around the shop. It would take a few hours to fix the mess I’d made here, but I needed to fix another one too. “Is it okay if I go hang out with Sawyer when I get done?”

“Zeke—”

“I need to apologize,” I rushed before she could deny me. “For what I did. I need to own up to it.”

She studied me for a moment, pushing my hair back from my face. Then, slowly, she nodded once, agreeing to let me go. I smiled at her weakly, unsure of what fixing my mess would mean. What any of it meant after last night.