“There was something I had alwayspicked up on about Morgan. Even when we were kids, I knew there was something differentabout him. I don’t know how I knew. Just sort of a feeling. And the way he wasaround his friends. I didn’t care. He was just my amazing older brother. Thesame year I made the team, one of his teachers caught him making out with someguy in an empty classroom after school and word got around town real fast. Itwas a very Baptist town, where things like that didn’t happen. Or at least,weren’t allowed to happen. Dad got to drinking and as soon as Morgan got home,fists were flying before Morgan ran out the door. We hopped in his pick-uptruck and headed out. I told him we needed to run off and figure it outtogether. I fought him about it as much as I could, but he wouldn’t let me go. Hesaid I didn’t deserve to pay for who he was. He left town that night.
“That was the last time I ever sawmy brother. I figured he’d try to find me at some point. Reach out to me. Butit wasn’t until six years later that I got a call from Kitty. Evidently, he’dtraveled to Atlanta, where he’d started working as a waiter and then a bartender.Had a guy there that was helping him out. Giving him a place to stay. Onenight, he was closing up the bar, and some other guys were walking by. It was apopular gay bar, so they suspected as much about Morgan, and they got into itwith him. And one thing led to another, and four to one, they beat the livingshit out of him, and carved “faggot” across his forehead before leaving hiscorpse at the bar doorstep. Couple of homeless guys were the only witnesses.They never found the guys that did it.
“Kitty called to tell me becauseshe knew my parents wouldn’t. I only found out later that he’d tried to sendletters back home to let me know where he was, but Mom would trash them beforeI saw them.”
His face trembles as he speaks,and it’s clear he’s fighting back tears. But considering how horrifying thesituation with his brother was, there’s no shame in him being torn up about it.
“So you think that didn’t play onmy mind every day, watching my kid grow up in this…terrible world…knowing thatany day, something horrible like that could happen to him? Judge me all youwant, but no father wants that for his kid. No father wants to see his childstruggling and fighting and grasping desperately for help in a world thatdoesn’t have any to offer.”
His eyes glisten in the lightcoming from behind the bar. I don’t doubt his passion or conviction, just hislogic.
“Kiernan, I’m not saying the worldis a great place, but I think if you really look at what’s happening to yourson right now, you can see that the sick fucks who do the kinds of things you’retalking about are in the minority. And I’m sorry about what happened to yourbrother, but again, those bastards that did that were in the minority. Iunderstand you being afraid and worried about your kid. But you also have tofind a way to let him know that you’re one of those people who’s on his side inall this.”
“He knows.”
“How?”
“I wouldn’t have helped him get thisfar if I wasn’t there for him. I wouldn’t have sacrificed my life…everything toget him here if I wasn’t.”
“Was it for him?”
“If you’re thinking this is somesort of vicarious life I’m living, then you can think again. Anything Tad everwanted to do, I would have thrown myself into to make him happy. Because hedeserves to be happy.”
“Then act like it.”
I can tell by the startled look onhis face that those words struck a chord. He silences. Turns away from me likehe wants to think on that in private. And I think that might be for the best.
“On that note,” I say. I takeanother sip of my drink. “I think I’m gonna head to bed.”
***
On my way back to the room, my phone vibrates. It’s Darren.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Oh my God, I’m so fucking drunk.”
“Where are you?”
“In the lobby, trying to rememberwhat room I’m in.”
“I’m gonna come down and get you.”
“My hero.”
He sounds playful—far more playfulthan usual.
I find him in the lobby, leaning againsta column, a conceited smirk on his face. He moves away from it, stumblesforward, and keeps tripping toward me. I catch him to keep him from falling.
The concierge glances my way, andI wave. “I’ve got this. Don’t worry.”
I escort him to the elevators. “What’sgoing on?”
“What? A guy can’t have a coupleof drinks on his night off?”
“You can have all the drinks youwant,” I say, sensing that I just need to placate him right now so that I canget him into his room.
I’ve never seen Darren like thisbefore, and it’s concerning. Although, considering how stressful things havebeen for him—for us, for everyone—I can understand why he would need somethingto take the edge off.
