Loved unconditionally.
TWENTY-FOUR
November passedinto December at a steady rate. The only minor drama in Van’s life was where he would spend Thanksgiving. Beatrice always threw a nice dinner for her employees who had no other family, and Van enjoyed her cooking. But for the first time since he started working at Off Beat, he turned down her invitation in favor of driving to Philly with Joshua to spend the holiday with Benji and his family.
Fading Daze still traveled regularly, performing and growing their fan base with each new stop. Benji checked in multiple times a day, free to be himself around his band now that they all knew about his poly relationship. Even his manager Eddie knew, and while he wasn’t thrilled, he did accept it. Benji wasn’t happy that the band’s website remained the same, showing a photo of him and Joshua, instead of updating it with one of the three of them, but he understood the reasons.
Until they broke out big, public perception was everything.
Joshua was spending more time at Van’s apartment than at the beach house he was subletting, and eventually Van gave him a key so he could come and go as work dictated. Joshua had enrolled in non-credit winter courses in hospitality. He got a new job working for a local realtor, which meant steadier hourswith a chance to do more. They both texted and phoned Benji as often as possible, and managed one phone sex date.
All in all, the three of them were happy in an arrangement that Van had never imagined working for him back in August. Now he’d do anything not to lose it. Not to lose them. Everything was going so well that when his phone rang on the first Saturday in December, Van nearly dropped it out of shock.
Kirby.
His heart tried to beat out of his chest; a sour taste filled his mouth. Kirby had been one of his adoptive brothers, two years older than Van, and the only one of his siblings that Van had kept in contact with, first through e-mail and then by phone. Kirby had a wife and three kids, and lived a comfortable life in New Mexico. He and Van rarely reached out to each other, maybe six times in the last ten years, including when their father had passed away. He knew Kirby kept in contact with one other older brother, but that was it.
Van accepted the call with dread sitting heavy in his stomach. “Hello?”
“Donnie, that you?” The familiar voice was tinny, as if coming from a great distance.
Van flinched at the use of a dead name he hadn’t gone by in a decade. “Yeah, it’s me. What’s going on?”
“I hate to be the one to tell you this, man, but, well . . . they finally found Brady’s body.”
Ice water filled his veins. Van fumbled his way to the sofa before his legs gave out completely. A throbbing in his temples threatened to become a full-blown ache. A strange sound came out of his mouth. More than a moan, less than a sob. “Tell me.”
“A few days ago, some college students were hiking around in the gulches, scouting locations for some low-budget horror film they’re making. One of ’em stumbled across human bones, sothey called the police. Coroner matched them to Brady’s missing person file by his dental records.”
He really is dead. All these years, I wondered and suspected, but I never knew.
It took several deep breaths for Van to manage, “How did he die?”
“Head trauma. The official theory is he went hiking alone, fell, hit his head hard enough on a rock to fracture the skull, and probably died of exposure. He disappeared in late spring, and it gets hot as Satan’s asshole that time of year.”
Van wanted to scream, cry, rage, and laugh all at once. His greatest fear, his deepest regret, had found him as he was on the cusp of a happy, love-filled life. Brady had died alone, violently, and for ten years had gone undiscovered in the stretching wilderness of central Texas.
“The cops are sure it wasn’t foul play?” he asked.
“Sure enough to consider the case closed. I wanted you to know, since you and Brady were good friends in high school. I remember how upset you were when he first went missing.”
That’s because the last time I saw him, our old man was dragging him kicking and screaming out of my bedroom.
“There’s gonna be a small memorial for him tomorrow at the Methodist church in town,” Kirby said. “His parents are gonna cremate, but they wanted a chance to say goodbye.”
“His parents stayed in town?”
“Sure. I guess moving away felt like abandoning Brady. I don’t know. They can move on now, though, I suppose.”
But how could Brady’s parents possibly move on when they were oblivious to their son’s final hours? That it was entirely possible Van’s old man had dragged Brady out into the wild and hit him with a rock? That maybe Brady’s death hadn’t been a tragic accident at all, but murder?
Were they all better off not knowing?
When Van left Texas ten years ago, he’d sworn to forget everything he was leaving behind. Not only his unloving parents and his grumpy siblings, but that tiny, prejudiced town, and the awful, terrifying memories of his old man walking in on him and Brady about to have sex.
Blind terror stole through him, the same numbing fear from that day so long ago. The fear that had sent him rushing for the bedroom door, and then had kept him rooted to the floor, sobbing over his broken hand, while Brady was dragged out of his life. The same terror that had kept him from telling the sheriff the truth when Brady was declared missing and Van was questioned about when he’d last seen him.
“Donnie? Man, you there?”
