CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CLAY
I’m in Missouri, parked up on the edge of Ashley Park, where I lived most of the past ten years. I’ve spent the last couple of days driving around the region, checking out shops for rent and making lists of local crews. I’ve been dreaming of doing exactly this for years, but frustration roils through me, the joy sapped out of the dream.
My truck rumbles, and behind me, a lazy creek flows toward the woods. On the plains side of the Missouri River, everything is flat, and the trees and buildings are all familiar. Even the scent in the air pulls me back into memories.
And everywhere, I see reminders of the hard, cold reality. I’m alone, just like I’ve always been.
I’ve got no family in this town. I’ve been kicked aside by my old crew. I flat-out don’t belong, just like I don’t belong anywhere.
And no matter how much it hurts, missing Nicholas with every fiber of my being, I can’t forget this truth.
He’s not mine, and I’m not his. I’m alone, and Nicholas is going to move on and find the love he deserves.
I get out of my truck and walk toward the creek, cursing under my breath.
Hating the world.
This fucked up town never gave me anything. Why’d I even come back here? It’s useless.
Everything is useless.
Living in Buffalo with Nicholas felt amazing, but that’s not my life, either. Those happy people aren’t my people. I’m like a sore thumb in the gayborhood.
I throw a rock into the water.
It occurs to me that I shouldn’t curse out Ashley Park. When I think about it, there are good people in this town, too. There are gay people, like the high school principal and her wife, and the guy who owns the café. And there are people like Nicholas’s parents, too. Genuine, sincere, nice people who keep themselves busy doing stuff for the community. Cleaning parks and organizing food drives.
My old neighbor Carla was like that. She’s one of the only people who ever asked how I was doing, too.
So maybe it’s not this town.
Maybe it’s me. I sure as hell didn’t try to get to know anyone.
That’s part of what sucks so hard about losing Nicholas. Under normal circumstances, I’d never have even talked to him, let alone got on a first-name basis with everyone in his life. I’d definitely never earn a shot at Sue’s crew, either.
Hurting hard and mad at myself for getting in this situation, I take off driving again. I’ve got no idea where I’m going, but as long as I’m moving, my thoughts can’t catch up to me.
I want Nicholas to be mine. But I don’t even know what that means.
He’d need things from me that I don’t know how to give him. But all of his friends do know how to give him that affection and love.
He deserves someone who will make him swoon. Who will plan a big wedding with him and care about the tuxes.
I don’t know how to be that.
It takes me until I turn up through Ohio that I realize I’m just driving back to Buffalo again. I stop off for another night in a cheap motel, where I torture myself and nearly call Nicholas about a hundred times.
I wake up the next morning, and slowly, an idea captures my attention. I go and find my grandpa’s journal in my bag. It’s one of the only things I brought with me when I fled Buffalo. Inside, I find the name of the town where Allen moved as well as his last name.
Curious, I type it all in a search engine and immediately get an address.
I put the phone down.
“Fuck it,” I say.
Back in the truck, I find a radio station that plays that cheesy music Nicholas likes. I ruminate as the highway passes by, thinking about him.
