“Shh, shh. It’s okay. Don’t worry about causing a scene. No one here is judging you, okay? We’re all friends here. No one’s mad at you,” Brooks reassures him, peering up at me for confirmation.
I nod.
The slate can never be washed clean, obviously, but there are too many years of trauma tied up in all of this—for both of us—that I can’t find it in myself to be anything less than a little sympathetic for his reasoning now, if what I suspect is true.
As Brooks sits there with Gordy, reassuring him that I’m not going to hold this over his head forever, I can’t help but think what a chaotic chain reaction of events that just unveiled itself. Reminds me of the butterfly effect. Like every little thing that happens, happens because there are conditions before it that are amplified over time. Each person’s actions beget another's reaction.
Life trajectories aren’t things that just fabricate out of thin air, they’re like waves on the ocean. They have multifactorial origins. The weather, the lunar cycle, even tectonic plates shifting can affect them. Waves can toss a boat, suck you into the rip tide, or provide you with the ride of your life—all depends on the conditions that predispose them, and how you choose to ride them out.
The only thing we can do now is acknowledge that what’s done is done, and that’s where our healing journey can start to begin.
Some time later, as the EMT’s escort Gordy into the ambulance, he points to me and curls his finger, prompting me over to him. He pulls the oxygen mask off his face. His words come out a little lesschoppy now, “I never meant for this to happen, Waters. I didn’t—I didn’t mean to cause a scene. I just wanted to apologize, is all.”
“Water under the bridge,” I tell him, though it sounds so surface-level. “I hope you get the help you need. You getting that is going to be the best apology for me.”
“Fuck, dude,” he huffs with a humorless chuckle, “you’re a good man. You and Brooks both. I already have been getting help, but clearly I had a setback. Tell your boyfriend I said thanks too, would ya? I owe you guys both a round on the house, whenever I’m out.”
I nod and wave him off. “We’ll catch up sometime.”
“I’d like that.”
One of the EMT’s hops in behind him, and shuts the door. As the ambulance crunches down the gravel driveway, Brooks wraps his arms around my waist and sidles in close to my side. He doesn’t say a word as he nuzzles in as I return the hug, holding him so tight.
Nothing else needs to be said right now. He just lets the weight of the world sink in around me, reassuring me with his presence. It’s truly the only thing keeping me afloat at this moment.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The party ended on a somber note after the ambulance took off with Marlin—er, Gordy. Evan and I came back to his apartment, still shaken by the events that took place tonight. Now I’m overcome with anxiety, heartache, and grief—so much grief.
So, remember how I’m a contracted tele-therapist in the off-seasons from camp? I see patients throughout the state of Maine, who seek virtual counseling sessions through an app. There, I see folks of all ages who have endured grief and trauma.
Marlin Masterson Jr.—Gordy, I guess—has been my patient foryears.
Due to patient-client confidentiality, I’m bound by an oath to not divulge any information to Evan. I do know, however, that Marlin first came to me when he was feeling particularly grief stricken when he found out that his son was bullying a queer kid at school—who I now suspect is Nikolas.
From there, we delved into his own history, and it’s a particularly shitty one, pardon my language.
I think back to how Evan initially reacted when he found out I knew about Colton, and I didn’t tell him. It sucked knowing I had this information, and yet I couldn’t say a thing. I didn’t realize until tonight, however, that Marlin and Gordy were one and the same.
Now that Idoknow, I can’t help but feel miserable for both Gordy and Evan.
Both of their histories are so heart-wrenching. Evan was terrified of coming out for decades, because he was tormented throughout his youth by his bully. His bully was abused so badly, it makes me—and I hate even thinking this—gladthat Marlin Sr. dropped dead of apparent liver failure years ago.
His father was a terrible alcoholic, from what Gordy has told me.
When he’s released from the hospital—and Evan eventually returns here, once summer’s over—will the two work on mending their pasts together? What if Gordy tells Evan that I’ve known him all along?
Would Evan view that asanotherbetrayal from me?
“You can’t sleep either?” Evan hugs me tighter, resting his bristly chin on my shoulder, as we lie in his bed together. Despite having showered, he still smells of cigarettes, since he was out on his fire escape chain-smoking them earlier.
I shake my head, spinning around to face him. Then, I can’t help it. I start to cry.
I sob uncontrollably—guilt eating me up from the inside out—as I wet his bare chest with my tears. He soothingly rubs a hand up and down my back, comfort I don’t deserve from him right now.
“Babe, hey,” he murmurs, tilting my chin up. He kisses a tear from my cheek. “What are these all about?”
“I can’t—” I start to say, before pulling away. “I’m so sorry. I know you’ve had a lot to take in today. Evan, please don’t hate me.”
