I want to ask the obvious, but I should probably let it go. “What happened?” Oops.
Another tight smile. Another shrug. On the steering wheel, his knuckles turn white. “I realised it was a pipe dream. I wasn’t star material, and that would never change. No matter how badly I wanted it or who I—” He stops, glances at me. “Who I met,” he finishes. “So, I came home.”
I understand him not wanting to tell me the whole story. Boyfriend or not, he barely knows me. However, I don’t like the idea of him short-changing himself. “I beg to differ, Ned,” I say with a deliberate air of authority. “When you’re on stage, it’s like you were born to be there. Your energy is massive.”
A new smile takes over his face, small but genuine. “Thank you for saying that. I feel big when I’m on stage. Performing makes me feel like I’m connected to the people around me. There’s give and take. Like we’re part of each other, you know?”
Cue smile and nod, but honestly, I have no clue what he’s talking about. Connecting with people on deep and profound levels isn’t within my realm of experience. I’m barely able to connect with the deep and profound parts of myself, except through the end of my stylus. How am I supposed to manage it with anyone else?
A thought occurs to me. “Is Sydney where you met Zac?”
Ned gives a short nod. “He’s umm… he’s a music manager. One of the big ones. He’s at Autumn Skies every year with artists he manages.”
I consider the new information before another thought slips in. This one is nasty. It sounds like lies and brings the sourness of animosity to my tongue. “Is he the one who told you you’re not good enough?”
With a sharp glance in my direction, Ned scowls. “You said no dark secrets.”
Regret flares in my gut and I look away. “You’re absolutely right,” I say in an overly chipper tone. “That’s more of a three-month relationship question, anyway.”
“At least,” he replies, then he gestures to me with one hand. “Tell me more about your family. You’re the youngest of three boys. What does that mean in birth order terms?”
Eager to move on from my faux pas, I latch on to the new topic with gusto. “It means I’m a self-centred attention-seeker who’ll do anything to get what I want,” I announce. “Honestly, I don’t see it.”
Ned cracks up laughing, the tension leaving his body. “Of course, not. Because you’re naturally so timid and unassuming.”
“Exactly.” I smile, glad to have broken him out of the funk brought on by talk of his past. “As for my two older brothers, they’re awesome. We get along famously.” I cup one hand around my mouth and lower my voice before adding, “My eldest brother, Joel, is a superhero.”
Raising an eyebrow, he looks at me sideways. “I’m sorry, did you say your brother is a superhero?”
“Yep,” I confirm with a nod. “His cape is invisible because he has to keep up the whole secret identity thing. I know the truth, though.”
Ned appears suitably impressed. “That’s a pretty big secret to share with someone you’ve known less than a fortnight. I guess we really are boyfriends.”
“I told you.” I grin, waggling my eyebrows at him.
His head falls back as he laughs. “How did you figure it out? The superhero thing.”
“He saved my butt, of course.” Angling towards him, I fold one leg up on the seat and get comfortable. “Okay, this is the perfect story to tell, because I think of it as my origin story. Any boyfriend worth his salt would know this about me.” Plus, it’s always a crowd pleaser, which is why I’ve told it so many times.
“You have an origin story?” Ned asks. “I thought those were strictly for the superheroes themselves. The events that led to them becoming a superhero.”
“Traditionally,” I admit. “Batman’s parents were murdered. For Spiderman, his uncle was killed.”
Ned’s mouth falls open in horror. “Tell me your parents weren’t murdered on the way home from the opera.”
I burst out laughing. “Thankfully, no. They’re alive and well and living in Cannon Hill. Although,” I hold up a finger in emphasis, “the way I see it, we all go through events that shape us and make us who we are. Those stories have power. Good or bad, they’re important. Why shouldn’t we claim them?”
“The good stories maybe, but the bad?” Ned grimaces, shaking his head. “Most of the time, the bad shit shapes us into people we don’t want to be. What’s the point of claiming those stories?”
“So we understand why we are who we are,” I tell him. “And to remind us wecanchange, make a new story.”
A wistful smile tugs at his lips, as though he’s wishing it were so easy. We both know it isn’t. Still, we have to try.
“I’m curious now,” he says. “Tell me. How did you become the great and gregarious Toni I have at my side today?”
I try not to bounce in my seat as I rub my hands together.
“I have to set the scene first. So, I always knew I was different from the other boys in school. I definitely knew I liked boys in a way I would never like girls. None of it seemed like a big deal, until I went to high school, and everyone started nosediving into lake puberty. My voice broke, along with the other boys, but not in the same way and suddenly the way I spoke set me apart from them. The way I moved was different, the way I acted. For a while, I tried to be more like them, more ‘straight’ I guess,” I add the appropriate air quotes, “but it didn’t work, and it made me feel awful, like I was faking it, so I gave up trying. Everyone started to assume I was gay—and they were right. I wasn’t the only gay boy in school, of course, but no one else had come out yet. I was the only one without a hope of hiding it.”
