Fever Pitch (2 page)

She twitched in eagerness, the
flip-flop-whish
of her shiny, board-straight black hair swishing against the passenger seat punctuated by high-pitched squeals as Giles drove them to Catherine Croix's
why can't we all just get along
goodbye party.

“
Ohmygod.
” Mina held up her phone. “Lisa texted me, and Eric Campf is totally going to be there. With God as my witness, I'm getting him drunk and sticking my hand down his pants.”

Giles thought about the last time he'd seen Eric Campf—on his knees in the back of the church basement, enthusiastically blowing Giles. As usual, though, Giles swallowed the truth and let Mina have her delusions. She never did anything about her crushes anyway—no way was her hand going anywhere near Eric's waistband. “I hope you're ready to leave early, because I fully expect to blow this Popsicle stand within the hour.”

Mina swatted his arm. “Come on. You haven't even parked the car.”

“I know what will happen. I'll be shunned or mocked or ignored. If I get drunk, I'll get beat up behind the garbage cans.” He turned down the street leading to Catherine's house. “If I stay sober, I'll sit in a corner and think about how much I hate everyone. I don't know why I let you talk me into coming.”

“Why don't you stay sober,
not
sit in a corner, and talk to people instead? They don't all treat you like crap.
I
don't.”

Giles pursed his lips and didn't answer, because Mina couldn't understand. Straight, pretty, adopted Korean-American Mina hadn't had anyone so much as raise their voice to her in class. She had no means to comprehend that Giles's remark about the garbage cans wasn't just another wisecrack. She had only the vaguest idea of the reality he'd lived at A-Hell—and he had no intention of reading her in on the deep cover of his life now.

Mina sighed. “Fine. Leave when you need to. Lisa said she'd give me a ride back, because she warned me you'd do this. Except I wish you'd stop writing people off before they have a chance to surprise you.”

“Tell you what, as soon as we get to Saint Timothy, I'm all over making new friends. I'll be first in line.”

“You shut too many people out. How do you know you haven't missed someone amazing right here at home because you decided they were an ass? How do you know you won't do the exact same thing at Saint Timothy? College isn't going to be that much different than high school.”

Jesus, it had damn well better be, or Giles was jumping off the first cliff he found. “Fine. I'll talk to at least one person at Catherine's party. Happy?”

“It's
you
who needs to be happy.”

“You have got to stop watching
Dr. Phil
.”

She straightened in her seat and grinned. “
Look
at all this. How are they all fitting into her house?”

Fifty cars at least lined Morningstar Lane, and it took Giles ten minutes to find a place to park that wasn't in some ominous dark shadow. It wasn't crime he worried about, not in this neighborhood, but drunken revelers looking to play Kick the Fag. He managed a reasonably secure space on a side street, and they made their way to the house, Mina chattering nonstop about how amazing the party would be.

Giles hunkered in silence, hating the world.

Once they got inside, Mina attached herself to her girlfriends, and Giles stood against the wall not far from them, taking stock of the room. The party was an impressive cross-section of Alvis-Henning. A decent number of the popular kids had put in an appearance, but there were plenty of band geeks and fringe riders. A few of the totally socially ostracized had dared to come and see if attending a party might increase their clout, but not many. This was the royalty allowing the commoners to pretend for a day, Queen Catherine of Nice presiding.

Mina did her best to include Giles in her conversations, and as promised he conversed with her friends for several minutes, mostly to a girl he sort of knew from orchestra, asking about her plans for the fall. It wasn't long, however, before he wandered off, determined to begin his exit.

He didn't want to chitchat with any of these people, and none of them wanted to talk to him. The popular girls reminded him without words that if he did bat for their team, they wouldn't let him play. The fringe girls waved eagerly and made comments about how they should hang out and do makeovers or something equally wrenched from stereotype—or they regarded him with pity.

God, but Giles hoped Mina was wrong about Saint Timothy not being any different. Intellectually he knew college wouldn't totally be the magic land of sunshine his heart wanted it to be, but it had to at least not be this slog through hell. No way everything would be exactly the same.

It
had
to get better. He was
owed
some goddamned better.

Giles made a circuit of the party, telling himself this was the last time to play the loser, the absolute end of standing outside everyone else, of being the one who couldn't connect, who was mocked or ridiculed or shunted off to the side unless someone felt like slumming with the gay. In fact, this would be the last time his sexuality was the lens through which he was viewed.

He was done pretending to enjoy himself at this party.
See, Mina? It was a bad idea to try and fit in at A-H.

Unfortunately, as soon as he decided to leave, Colton Almstet climbed onto a coffee table and began his performing-monkey routine.

Giles hung back, trying to read the scene. Colton wasn't the one who had punched Giles so hard he lost his front teeth in tenth grade, but he'd stood by and laughed. By and large the days of Giles having to dodge serious harm were in the past, but it was Colton and his particular breed of asshole Giles still had to watch out for, especially when they were drunk. The half-finished fifth of vodka sloshing in Colton's hand as he leered over a stoned-out cheerleader falling out of her top told Giles if he so much as blipped onto Colton's radar, he'd deal with public slurs at best and get followed to his car at worst. While the living room Colton held court in was crowded, there wasn't quite enough cover to get to the front door. Giles's height, hair and signature ears didn't do him any favors for anonymity, either.

Time to find an alternate escape route.

After letting Mina know he was leaving, Giles wove through the kitchen. Exiting out the back was too dangerous—too dark, too much opportunity to interrupt trysting jocks who'd feel honor bound to chase Giles down. He wasn't sure where else he could go. He considered heading through the main room to the front door, Colton be damned—he could hide behind people, right? He could crouch down, maybe. Of course they'd laugh at him, and he'd be exposed.

How fucked up was it that this was how he had to leave a party full of people who would do no more than avert their gazes when someone publicly called him a fag and offered to shove a beer bottle up his ass? Why couldn't he go to Mina and confess the truth? Why was her ignorance more important than getting out of harm's way?

Why did he fucking come here in the first place? Why had he believed, even for a moment, that he could pretend to be normal?

Angry and ashamed, Giles beelined for the back door in the kitchen—and ran headfirst into Eric Campf, who was flocked on either side by linebackers.

Surprised, Giles staggered away, and like the well-honed reflex it was, he bowed his head. He pretended he was meek, to be the geeky, awkward gay kid with the nasal voice who didn't challenge his betters. Ten minutes after Eric had wiped Giles's spunk off his chin last week, Giles had worn such a look for him when they returned to the youth room. Giles was supposed to cop that pose now, because this was how the game went down. Giles wasn't cool. Eric was.

Giles was so fucking tired of playing along. Mina's warning about college not being different rang in his head too loudly, the party ignored him too completely and Giles felt like burning things down. Fuck Colton and fuck Eric. They could cope with the human being in front of them.

He lifted his head, let his anger bleed out in a bold gaze telling Eric, yeah, Giles remembered that mouth on his cock.

Eric balked, and his friends eyed Giles speculatively. When Eric recovered, his shock morphed into rage. “Who the fuck do you think you are,
fag
?”

Here we go.

Ducking behind a gaggle of girls giggling over Jell-O shots, Giles tried again for the door, but there were too many people between him and the exit. Even without Colton in the main room, Eric's buddies had the way blocked off, which meant with the back door inaccessible, Giles had to weave down the hallway and hope to hell there was a side exit or a door with a lock. He was more than ready to settle for the latter. He'd hole up, wait until everyone was too stoned and drunk to give chase, and he'd get the fuck out.

Eric and the linebackers got tangled in the Jell-O-shot girls, who missed the imminent gay bashing and seized an opportunity for flirting. The drunkest of them fulfilled Mina's wish and got her hand down Eric's pants, and Giles enjoyed Eric's abrupt paralysis.

Weaving through the crush into a less-populated hallway, Giles spied a narrow door leading into a laundry room. He hesitated, weighing his options as he glanced over his shoulder and saw his pursuers hadn't yet come this way. Laundry rooms didn't usually have locks, but they could be great places to wait. This could also be where they trapped him and came up with something nasty to do to him.

Where else could he go? At this point all he could do was hide here or risk running into them in the main hallway—and get dragged into a room where whatever they did to him would get drowned out by the party noise in the living room. Would his defiance be worth it if it landed him his third ER visit?

Goddamn it, Mina, I'm never listening to you again.

Giles slipped into the laundry room. Shutting the door, he sank against the barrier, sucking in deep breaths of detergent, listening intently for the sound of footfalls in the hall. They came, along with swearing and murmured inquiries of
Where did he go?
Then, blessedly, the hall went quiet as Giles's pursuers drifted away.

Except as silence rang in his ears and his eyes adjusted to the low light, Giles realized he wasn't the only one in the room.

A dark figure huddled in the corner between a basket of folded towels and a pile of sheets waiting to be laundered. One figure, which meant it wasn't a couple necking, but someone else hiding. Giles squinted in the dark, peering closer, wondering who the hell else could possibly be in here.

His heart skipped a beat as the figure became familiar.

Aaron Seavers. It was Aaron Seavers, Colton's best bud, hiding in the laundry room with Giles.

C
hapter Two

A
t the door, Giles remained frozen in terror and indecision, but Aaron didn't so much as look up. Hunched, dark hair over his eyes and arms crossed on his knees, Aaron stared at the floor and spoke in a tight, tired voice. “Go away.”

Giles wasn't sure how to play this. While Aaron had never engaged in gay-baiting, Giles wasn't sure he was ready to bet his front teeth Aaron wouldn't turn him over to the wolves first chance he had.

From the second Aaron showed up at Alvis-Henning, Giles had seriously crushed on him. Hot as fuck, all dark hair, blue eyes and fuzzy scruff on his jaw—his quiet reserve left way too much space for Giles's imagination. This infatuation, combined with Aaron's popularity, meant Giles hadn't ever figured out how to behave around him. Which right now was a real problem.

He decided to hedge. “If you can wait five minutes to kick me out, I'd appreciate it.”

Aaron's head snapped up, and in the low light of the room his bright blue eyes shone. “Oh. Sorry. I thought you were Colton.”

“God no. He's dancing on a table in the living room.” Giles let himself relax somewhat. “Why would you tell Colton off? I thought you two were tight.”

To this Aaron's response was a snort as he lifted a beer bottle to his lips. “Whatever.”

Giles was more confused by the second. “Why are you in here, anyway?”

Aaron toasted the air with his bottle and a black smile. “Because it's my birthday.”

“Oh—happy birthday.” Giles frowned. “Sorry, I don't get it.”

“Me either.” Aaron tipped his head against the wall and shut his eyes, allowing Giles an ogle of that gorgeous throat, the tiny tuft of hair at the front of his T-shirt, the line of beard shadow and the beautiful bulge of an Adam's apple. Blue eyes opened, fixing in soft squints at Giles. “I know you. You were in my…calculus class?”

“And physics.” Giles waved. “Giles Mulder.”

Aaron gestured drunkenly back. “Aaron Seavers.”

“I know.” Jesus fuck, but Aaron was
hot
. Hot and slightly aloof. Giles wanted to put the guy on his knees and make him moan.
Stop. Get out of this with all your teeth and bones in place.
“So…you spend all your birthdays in the laundry room, or is this one special?”

“I'm having a better time in here than I was out there. Or anywhere. I'm having a particularly miserable life at the moment.” Wincing, Aaron took another drink. “Shit, that's pathetic. You should probably go.”

“I think if I leave right now, I'll go home in a body bag, or at least on a stretcher.”

Now it was Aaron's face screwed up in confusion. “Why?”

“Eric Campf and his buddies are playing hunt the fag. Plenty of other people would be happy to join in if they heard about the party game.”
Please don't say you want to be one of them.

Aaron shut his eyes. “I hate this town. I should be glad I'm leaving it tomorrow.”

Aaron was leaving? Giles snuffed out the waft of disappointment.
Like it matters. We're all leaving in another month and a half. Also, just because hottie is talking to you instead of hitting you doesn't mean you have a new bestie.
“Where are you going tomorrow?”

“To hell.” Aaron drained the last of his beer. “Eden Prairie, with my dad. He'll nag at me all summer, plus I have to avoid—” His whole face shuttered, and he didn't say anything more.

Okay, touchy subject. New topic. “Where are you going to school in the fall?”

Swearing under his breath, Aaron tossed the beer bottle across the room. “I need another drink.”

“Unless you want fabric softener, I think you're out of luck in here. Seriously, where are you going in the fall?”

“I don't know.”

Giles stared at him, not quite sure what to do with this. “Dude, it's
June
. June twenty-first.”

“Yes, I know. Birthday, remember?” Aaron covered his face with his hands. “I don't know where I'm going. I can't decide. My dad's going to rag my ass about whatever I choose, and they all look the same. It's my goddamned eighteenth birthday, I never got dinner, and I don't know where I'm going to college. I'm drinking in a laundry room at the most boring party in the world, my ride home is smashed and dancing on tables—
and
I'm out of alcohol.”

“Well, I can't help you with the alcohol or college, but I could give you a ride to a drive-through on the way to your house.”

Giles expected to be laughed at, but Aaron took him seriously. “For real?” He seemed briefly hopeful, then looked away. “I don't want you to bug out of the party because I'm being a loser.”

“Did you forget the part where I'm hiding out because beating me up is about to be the evening's entertainment?”

“Oh. Right. Um…yeah, if you're offering and don't mind, a ride would be great. I don't live too far, so it shouldn't put you out.”

“But I'm taking you to dinner first, right?” Giles stepped closer and held out a hand. “Need help?”

“You don't have to take me out.” Aaron sounded like he wished someone would.

“Hey, it's your birthday. The least I can do is buy you a Frosty.”

Aaron frowned as he accepted Giles's hand and rose gracelessly to his feet. “Wendy's is in Anoka.”

“Whatever, it's only fifteen minutes. Besides, I could use an order of fries.” When Aaron only grinned at him stupidly, as if Giles had offered to scale a mountain for him, Giles added, “I think you could use more water and less beer.”

“Yeah.” Aaron listed on his feet. “No dinner, four beers in three hours. Dumb.”

“It's your birthday. You're allowed.”

Aaron laughed, leaning into Giles. “What, do I get a free pass on everything because it's my birthday?”

Letting the comment soak in, Giles tried to decide if Aaron Seavers was hitting on him or not.

Aaron nodded to a shadow in the corner of the room. “Hey, is that a door?”

By God, it was. A side door with a clear, straight view of the street, and if he squinted, Giles could see his car. “Aaron Seavers, I fucking love you.”

Giggling, Aaron nudged him. “Come on, we haven't even had a first date yet.”

Giles's jaw dropped, but before he could wrap his head around Aaron Seavers—
Colton's best friend
—hitting on him, Aaron grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the exit.

“Let's go. If you love me, you can buy me a Frosty
and
fries.”

What the hell was he supposed to say to that? In the end Giles said nothing, only let Aaron lead him out of the party into the night.

A
aron liked this Giles guy.

He was lanky and goofy-looking, with ears that stuck out and a fauxhawk he should give up on, and he had this way of regarding everything as if he wasn't sure if he should run from it or attack it. Giles's voice was sharp, a little nasal and a lot lispy. But he was funny, and he had this way of taking charge Aaron enjoyed. Also, he was the only person tonight interested in doing something Aaron wanted to do.

Most importantly, when Giles looked at Aaron, he smiled. It was a nice smile.

Except he wasn't smiling right now. Once they shut the door behind them, Giles used a subtle touch at Aaron's elbow to herd him out of the party. “Come on. Coast is clear. My car is the red Honda.”

“Who are we running from?” Aaron looked around, not seeing anyone.

“We're running preemptively.” At the car, Giles nudged Aaron toward the passenger side. “Are you sober enough to open the door and get in?”

Aaron tried to flip him off, but the quick gesture made him stumble sideways, and he stopped. Grumbling, Giles helped Aaron into the car. Now Aaron felt like shit. “Sorry.”

“It's okay.” Giles spoke tightly, still peering around the street as if he expected an axe murderer. Once he got in the car himself, he immediately locked the doors and relaxed somewhat. “Okay. Frosty time.”

Food.
Aaron's belly, full of alcohol, gurgled unhappily. “Thanks again. This is nice of you.”

“Not a problem.” Giles focused on navigating his way through the clutch of parked cars and onto Viking Boulevard. “You said you're leaving tomorrow for your dad's place. I take it your parents are divorced?”

“Yeah. Five years.”

Giles frowned. “But you've only been here since last fall. I mean—I guess I figured it had to be some kind of epic event to get you to move out of your high school during senior year.”

“We lived in Eden Prairie at first after they split up, but then Mom realized he wouldn't…” Aaron pursed his lips, unwilling to admit out loud the complicated relationship between his parents. He drew a breath and redirected. “She wanted to move closer to her sister.”

“Couldn't you have stayed with your dad?”

“He's gone a lot, sometimes for months at a time. So, no.”

“Huh.”

Aaron thought he could hear the judgment in Giles's tone—
Why didn't your mom stay nine more months until you graduated?
—but he said nothing more. It was a kindness Aaron appreciated, because usually people wanted to know why, leaving Aaron to sputter helplessly.

Funny how Giles's silence made Aaron want to talk.
“
I go to Dad for the summer once I clear my birthday. Unless he's out of town. That's the custody arrangement.”

“How does it work when you're eighteen? Can you tell him to fuck off and do what you want?” When Aaron shivered, Giles laughed. “Okay, clearly not. Sorry.” He shifted his hands on the wheel. “I can't get over the fact that you haven't picked a college. Can you get in anywhere this late?”

“I don't know.” His head swam a little, panic breaking through the alcoholic haze. “Where are
you
going?”

“Saint Timothy.”

Aaron frowned, mentally indexing his pile of brochures. “The name rings a slight bell.”

“Small liberal arts college east of St. Paul, by Battle Creek Lake. Lutheran background, which of course half the colleges are in Minnesota.” He smiled as he turned onto the highway. “I'm excited to go. We've visited twice, and it feels right, you know?”

No, Aaron didn't. “How does it feel right?”

Giles considered a moment. “It just does. Probably helps that I fell in love with it on paper ages ago. It has a great orchestra program—whole music department is top-notch.”

Aaron missed music. “Is that what you're going to major in, music? What do you play?”

“I play violin, but no, I'm not majoring in music. Are you kidding? I want a job.” Giles settled into his seat. “I don't know what I'm going to do yet. I'd always told myself I was going to be an LGBT activist for marriage equality, but the state came to its senses before I could get out of A-Hell, and now with DOMA staked too, I'm kind of over it. So I'm still thinking.”

“A-Hell?”
LGBT activist.
Aaron's belly stopped gurgling and started…something. Giles
was
gay. He kept mentioning it too, as if it were no big deal.

Giles glanced at Aaron with an arched eyebrow. “You're going to tell me you loved Alvis-Henning now, right?”

“What?
No.
” Aaron pulled a face. “God no.”

Giles's laugh tickled Aaron inside. “Good.”

A lull descended. Aaron thought Giles might be trying to say something but couldn't quite find the words. Aaron tried not to stare at him, because this was reminding him a
lot
of the night with Tanner, when everything was so amazing…then so terrible.

Aaron sat up straighter. “Tell me more about this college. Saint Somebody.”

“Saint Timothy. I don't know, it's a college. Two thousand people, lots of trees and buildings, big lawn.”

“Tell me more about why it feels right. You like the music program, but you're not going to major in it?”

“Well—” Giles frowned. “I guess I think they're mostly interchangeable, these colleges, so I might as well pick the one that makes me feel comfortable and happy. I checked out the LGBT rating at Timothy right away, but unless you're somewhere freakishly evangelical, having an LGBT support group is almost standard now. So I walked around campus a lot, trying to decide if I could imagine it as home. I could. They have a wide variety of majors, their sports teams are kind of whatever, not the main focus, and their dorms are decent. I can play orchestra and maybe take a trip or two with them, and the school is an hour's drive from my parents, less with good traffic. Decision made.”

Aaron's mind boggled. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It's not rocket science. It's just college.” He nudged Aaron with his elbow. “So what are you looking for in a school?”

“Something my dad won't call stupid.”

“Ah.” Giles's tone was full of understanding. “Well, what's he think is important?”

“I have to go somewhere with a strong reputation, where I can get a good job after. Except I don't know what job I want.”

“Have you gone down the
U.S. News & World Report
lists? Do you want to stay in the Midwest or get the hell out?”

“I want everything to stop. The pressure. All the stupid—” He thought of Colton and yet another disastrous evening. “I don't want to join a frat and start high school part two. I want real friends. I want…”

Tanner flashed in his mind, and he put his hands on his stomach.

“You okay?” Giles slowed the car. “Do you need me to pull over?”

“I just need to eat,” Aaron lied.

“Food coming right up. I see the sign up ahead. What would you rather, a burger or chicken sandwich?”

“Burger. Big one. With bacon and cheese.” Aaron tried to fumble for his wallet, but Giles waved him away.