“Hi, Gene,” Callahan greeted, leading them to one of the cars in the middle of the pack. Jace had to admit he was stunned. He wouldn’t have been able to pick a car out of the lot.
“Mr. McMillian.” Gene pushed his body away from the side of the car and straightened, adjusting his black hat. “I didn’t see you come out.”
“Not a problem.” Callahan smiled and stepped back, making room for Gene to open the back door. Callahan gestured for Jace to get in, so he climbed in the back seat, waiting for Callahan to join him.
Once they were secured in the car, Jace looked over at Callahan, a small sense of wonder bubbling in his chest. “How did you know which car?”
“I recognized Gene.”
“From where?”
“The airport,” Callahan answered casually. “He was our driver. Do you not remember?”
Jace shook his head. “Is he your normal driver?”
The idea of anyone having a “normal driver” felt preposterous. For years, Jace’s normal driver was the guy who drove the school bus that took him from school back to the group home, and Jace hadn’t ever bothered to learn his name.
“Nope. I don’t come back here enough to have a normal driver.”
Jace felt even worse, but Callahan reached out, not aware, and tangled their fingers together, staring down at their joined hands with a small smile on his lips.
“What’s it like?” Callahan asked him after Gene had started the drive to St. George’s.
“What’s what like?”
“Not needing to please anyone.”
Jace reeled back, his face contorted into a deep frown. “What does that even mean?”
“No. No.” Callahan held up his hands. “I didn’t mean it poorly. I just mean, what’s it like to not…shit. I don’t know how to say it without sounding horrible.”
“What’s it like to have the bar set so low you don’t need to even try?” Jace snapped.
“Not like that.”
“My parents abandoned me when I was ten. Ten years old,” he said, disgust mixing with bile and boiling in the back of his throat. “I was in foster care for four years because I didn’t please anyone. My whole life has been shaped by my inability to please the right people, Callahan.”
Jace pulled his hand off Callahan’s thigh and made a fist, knocking his knuckles against his knees and fighting the urge to throw himself out of the moving car and beg Gene to drive him back to Myers Bluff instead of to the school.
It was inconceivable that Callahan would look at the few tidbits he knew about Jace’s life and think that he’d had it easy. Everyone who’d been meant to love Jace had given up on him and abandoned him. The bar was set so low because his entire life had been comprised of letdown after letdown and failure after failure. Everything Jace had that was good were things he’d fought tooth and nail for.
His acceptance to Chicago School of Photographic Arts, his camera equipment, the handful of gallery shows he’d managed to secure, even his measly coffee shop job. Jace had worked, and would continue to work, harder than most for the bare minimum. Callahan’s dismissive commentary was a stark reminder that the world that existed between them in the hotel room was not the real world, and Jace was minutes away from walking back into the viper’s den.
“I didn’t realize,” Callahan said softly. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he lied, eager to dismiss the conversation.
“Are you just saying that?”
The car pulled to a stop and Gene shifted into park.
“We have more important things to worry about right now, don’t we?” Jace rubbed his sweaty palms down the front of his slacks. He’d have to give it to Remington—he’d picked a good suit. Even though his insides wanted to contort themselves into a knot and flee his body, he felt good. The clothes made him feel stronger, more confident, like he was wearing a costume. In a way, he kind of was because this whole weekend was just pretend anyway, wasn’t it?
“You seem tense,” Callahan said as the back door opened from the outside.
“I am. Aren’t you?” Jace followed Callahan out of the car, unable to stop himself from reaching out and straightening Callahan’s vest that had somehow gone crooked. Callahan seized on the opportunity, taking Jace’s hand in his and holding tight. His palms were sweaty too, Jace realized.
“Can’t this part be pretend?” Callahan asked, the school clock tower looming large behind him. “And the other things real?”
