The Way You Say My Name (27 page)

Megan was practically jumping up and down. “I knew it. The minute I saw you in church yesterday, I said to myself, ‘Self, there goes a man who just got laid.’” She leaned in closer. “So, how was it? Was it an all night monkey-sex fest?”
Dillon was trying his best to come up with an answer for that one when a shadow fell across the hall. He turned to see Dan Morgan standing not three feet away, wearing a three hundred dollar sweater paired with hand tailored slacks and taking in every word. When Morgan noticed Dillon looking at him, he grinned. “Please don’t delay your answer on my account, Dillon. Sounds like a good story if ever I heard one.”
Megan balked. “Mr. Morgan, I didn’t know you were standing there. I, um . . .”
Dillon took over. “Mr. Morgan, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll save the story for another time. I have to work this afternoon after the meeting, so I’d like to get started as soon as possible.”
The disappointed look on Morgan’s face made Dillon feel ill. “I suppose if we must, we must. Pity, that.” He waved one cashmere-covered arm towards the door and looked at Megan. “After you, Miss Nash. In fact, why don’t you call the other council members to order while I have a word with Dillon here?”
Dillon’s face must have shown his reluctance, because Morgan was quick with his reassurances. “I know you’re in a hurry, Dillon, and I promise this won’t take long.”
Dillon didn’t want to hear anything Morgan had to say, especially not after their meeting in the principal’s office and that little speech at Ben’s memorial. But Dillon also knew he didn’t really have a choice. Nodding to Megan, Dillon waited until she’d gone into the conference room and closed the door behind her before turning back to Morgan. “Yes, sir?”
Morgan moved towards him, standing so close Dillon could practically feel Morgan’s breath on his cheeks. “I understand that James and Megan enjoyed an impromptu visit to a Chicago jail this past weekend.”
The hairs on the back of Dillon’s neck stood on end. “How did you know about that?”
Morgan smiled and leaned in so that they were nose to nose. “Oh, let’s just say I have a friend or two down at the police department nice enough to keep me informed about what goes on with my students.” Morgan’s voice dropped an octave but lost none of its greasy charm. “I like James, Dillon, and I think you should know that he’s fooling around with things that could get him . . . hurt. I’m not including Megan in this because I suspect that she was only at that dead man’s house because James dragged her into it.” Morgan stepped back just a bit and looked directly into Dillon’s eyes. “If I were you, I’d make sure James backed of this little investigation of his.”
Dillon’s mouth went dry. “Mr. Morgan, is that a threat?”
Morgan did his best to seem surprised by the question. “A threat? Of course not. It makes no difference to me what happens to James, but you seem to care, so I thought I’d give you a heads up. Consider it friendly advice.” And before Dillon could say anything else, Morgan opened the door and entered the conference room, leaving Dillon no choice but to follow.
Morgan’s so-called “friendly advice” rang in Dillon’s ears as he took a seat next to Megan and listened to the seemingly endless string of updates and reports on everything from the prom’s location to the merits of decorating with Mylar instead of crepe paper. All Dillon wanted to do was get this meeting over with, work his shift at the drugstore, and get to Jamie. Dillon wasn’t sure how--or if--Morgan was connected to Ben and Burke, but if Morgan was trying to scare him with his cryptic warnings about Jamie, it sure as hell worked. Dillon was terrified, first that something would happen to Jamie, and next that Dillon would be powerless to stop it when it did.
When the last committee member was done presenting the final issue--something about the music that Dillon only half-way heard--Morgan took the podium and said, “Once again, ladies and gentleman, thank you for putting your time and effort into this project. I have no doubt this year’s prom will be the best one Plunkett has ever had. As you kids are fond of saying, the prom is gonna be a real killer.”
Dillon prayed to God that the prom would be the only killer he and Jamie came in contact with, but somewhere deep inside, he doubted it would be.
* * *
Dillon thanked the gods of scheduling that he was down for a short shift, getting off work at seven instead of his usual nine o’clock. Dillon’s plan--one he’d shared with Jamie during a hasty on-break phone call--was to run home, take a quick shower, and then spend the rest of the evening (the time until Sadie kicked him out for the night, that is) with Jamie over at his place. The minute Dillon stepped into Heath’s apartment and took a look at his brother’s face, though, that plan was shot to Hell.
Heath, still wearing his uniform, was sitting in his ratty old recliner. His face was ashen, and as soon as Dillon walked in the door, he looked up and said, “We got trouble, kid.”

It was on the tip of Dillon’s tongue to say, “So what else is new,” but he stopped himself and instead said, “What kind of trouble?”
Heath leaned forward and grabbed a yellow piece of paper from the coffee table. “According to the manager of these apartments, I violated my lease by failing to inform her when you moved in here. Apparently, someone called her this morning and told her all about our new living arrangements.” Heath snorted and tossed the paper back down on the table. “Ten bucks says we have our illustrious parents to thank for that one.”
Dillon sank down on the couch. “What does violating the lease mean, exactly?”
Heath pointed towards the paper again. “According to that notice, I can either rectify the violation--namely kicking you out, which ain’t gonna happen--or I can consider myself on a fifteen-day notice.” Heath leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “In short, Dillon, it means we’re being evicted.”

Douglas Carver looked up from his desk as Dillon came barreling into the oak-paneled office first thing the next morning. His father looked almost frightened by the sheer rage coursing through Dillon’s veins, but Dillon could have cared less. It was time he and his dad had a little chat.
It didn’t take Doug long to recover from his initial surprise. “Good morning, Dillon. Won’t you take a seat?”
Dillon stopped just inches from where his father sat. “I don’t think you want me to take a seat, Douglas. If I did, I’d probably shove it up your self-righteous ass.”
Doug crossed his hands in front of himself and looked Dillon directly in the eye. “I take it this is about your unfortunate eviction.”
Dillon could barely see his father through the red haze of anger clouding his vision. “You’re damn right it is.”
Douglas nodded, amazing Dillon with the cool, calculated grace contained in that one action. “While I understand your upset, son, I think perhaps once I’ve made my offer, you’ll calm down a bit and realize that I did what I had to do. You really left me no choice.”
God, the guy was unbelievable. “I can promise you right now, Douglas, I’m not interested in anything you have to say.”
Doug raised his brows. “First of all, you will address me as ‘Dad’ or ‘Father.’ You will show me the respect I deserve.”
Oh yeah, like that was gonna happen. “I don’t have a dad or a father. I have a sperm donor who thinks that one little contribution gives him the right to run my life.”
A muscle in Doug’s jaw started to twitch, but Dillon had to hand it to him. Doug reigned in his temper.
“Call me whatever you like, son, but the fact remains that I am your father, and I have something I’d like to say. Will you sit down now and listen to me?”
Dillon shook his head. “I’ll stand.”
Doug was noticeably irritated, but he didn’t put any of that frustration into his next statement. “Whatever you say. Anyway, here’s the deal.” Doug sat up straight in his chair, looking into Dillon’s eyes again. “Your mother and I have decided to forgive you and allow you to come back home and live with us.”
Dillon was sure his father had to be joking. “You’ve decided to forgive me?”
Doug nodded. “Yes, as a matter of fact, we have. Your mother misses you, and I want to make her happy. The two of us put our heads together and came up with a solution to this little problem of ours.” Doug reached into his desk drawer, and, to Dillon’s sheer amazement, pulled out a set of index cards. The fucker had actually made notes. Bastard. He knew Dillon would come charging in here the minute he found out about the eviction. His father had played him, and, like an idiot, Dillon had fallen right into his game.
Doug arranged the cards in order on his desk and said, “Now, before your mother and I agree to take you back in, you should be aware that we’ve altered a few of our rules to reflect the recent changes in your personality and behavior.” Doug cleared his throat as if he were getting ready to present a pre-trial motion to the court. “Number one, you will have no contact whatsoever with James Walker. Any such contact will result in your immediate removal from our property.”
God help him, but Dillon was actually finding this funny. He leaned his hip against the corner of his dad’s desk and played along. “That’s number one, huh?”
Doug took Dillon’s question for interest in his new plan and warmed to his task. “Yes, well, it might not be easy to stay away from Walker at first, given the fact that, at present, you’re a pervert, but I believe in time you’ll come to see the error of your ways. Which brings me to number two. I’ve scheduled an appointment for you with a man by the name of Dr. Henderson over in Chicago. He’s one of the world’s leading de-gayer’s. Now, I’ve spoken to him, and he believes that with the proper therapy and medication, he can bring you around to the right way of thinking.”
“Oh, I’ll just bet he does.” The guy sounded like a nutcase. “Any other rules you need to discuss with me, Doug?”
Douglas winced at the informal address but kept scanning the list, anyway. “Let’s see. Other than your new, seven-thirty curfew, there’s just one other thing.” Douglas looked long and hard at his son before continuing with, “You have to agree to file charges against Brandon Nash and his so-called husband for molesting you.”
Dillon fought the urge to vomit. “Brandon and Nate never touched me, and you know it.”
Douglas shrugged. “Doesn’t matter whether they did it or not. I think with the proper coaching, you could convince a jury they did.”
“I get it. You want me to lie.”
Doug shook his head. “Don’t think of it as lying, son. I’m sure the two of them have molested countless young boys in their lifetimes. You’ll be doing the rest of the world a favor by getting them off the streets. Anyway, those are my rules.” Doug looked down at his watch. “You’ve already missed an hour’s worth of school, but if we leave now, we can go down to the city police department, file charges against the sheriff and company, and have you back to school in time for your third period class.”
Dillon had heard enough. “So, those are the rules, huh?” When Doug nodded, Dillon said, “Okay, then. Let me tell you my rules.” He came forward and leaned over the desk, more or less towering over his dad. “Let’s start with rule one, since it’s the only rule I have. Stay the fuck away from me.”
“Now look here--”
Dillon whipped up his hand and stuck one long finger in his father’s face. “No, you look. Take a good look at me, Doug. Look at this big fag you brought into the world and listen close to what I have to say. If you come near me or my family again, I can promise you, you won’t like the consequences.”
Doug blanched, but he kept his voice even. “Family, you say? Need I remind you, boy, I am your family.”
“The hell you are. My family is Jamie. He and I are going to start a life together, just as real as the life you’ve carved out for yourself with Angela.” Dillon paused, thinking about his own words. “No, scratch that. What Jamie and I have is more real, because we’re honest. Honest with ourselves--and the world--about who we are. I love Jamie more than I ever thought I had it in me to love, and I swear before God, if you do one thing to hurt him, to cause him pain in any way, I’ll knock you into next week and then kick your ass again on Thursday.”
Doug’s self-control had reached it’s limit. “You can’t threaten me.”
Dillon moved back from the desk. “I believe I just did.” Dillon started for the door, but turned back around when he heard his father’s voice.
Doug was standing behind his desk, a look of panic on his face. “Wait. What am I going to tell your mother? She was counting on me to get you back home and into therapy.”
How pathetic. “Tell her the truth. Tell her she married a spineless asshole.” And before Doug could say another word, Dillon left the office--and his childhood--behind.
* * *
Dillon closed the phone book with an audible snap. Eleven more days and he’d officially be homeless. Not that any of the landlords and apartment managers in the greater Reed area cared. All they saw was an eighteen year old kid with no credit rating to speak of. Of course, Heath insisted the two of them were gonna find a new place together, but Dillon wasn’t having it. His brother had already done more for him than Dillon could ever repay. Dillon wasn’t about to let Heath lose his home on top of all that. No, Dillon would just have to find a place of his own.
He leaned back into the couch cushions and checked the clock. Nine-thirty. He’d worked another short shift and had planned on spending the evening with Jamie. Dillon had to admit, he was disappointed and a little bit hurt when Jamie told him he had a few things he needed to get done and therefore couldn’t see Dillon that night. Dillon hated to voice what he was feeling, but the truth was, he was scared. For the first time since leaving his parents house--and especially since that confrontation with his father--Dillon realized just how alone he was.
Oh, Jamie, Megan, and the rest had rallied around him when they heard that he and Heath were being tossed out, but there really wasn’t anything anybody could do about it. No, it was up to Dillon to solve his own problems, to sort out his own mess. The question was, how?
One good thing to come out of Dillon’s predicament was that his impending eviction temporarily put a halt to Jamie’s “investigation” into Ben’s death and the money. Jamie was too worried about Dillon and his situation to do more than raise his eyebrows when Dillon told him about Morgan’s weird threats before the prom committee meeting. Dillon was sure the reprieve was only temporary, and that as soon as things calmed down, Jamie would be back in action and more determined than ever to find the truth. Still, Dillon was going to enjoy it while it lasted. Even Nora--albeit unknowingly--had helped to delay Jamie’s search. She’d hit a snag in the moving process and had postponed the pick-up of Ben’s car and possessions by several days. Jamie wasn’t happy about the wait, but, again, worry over Dillon’s living arrangements kept him more or less silent about it.
Heath came through the door a few minutes later and headed straight for the shower, leaving a trail of dirty clothes behind him. Dillon just shook his head and gathered them up, depositing the grungy garments in front of the washing machine. Hard to believe it, but Dillon was even gonna miss his brother’s slob-like tendencies. Amazing what a man could get used to.
Just as he came back to the couch, Dillon heard the shower cut off. Heath stepped out of the bathroom wearing nothing more than a towel clutched loosely around his hips. When he saw the phone book and cordless phone lying on the coffee table, Heath narrowed his eyes. “You weren’t apartment hunting again, were you?”
“Yeah, for all the good it did me. Seems I’m not a very good credit risk.”
“Dammit, Dillon, I told you we’d find a place together. In fact, a buddy of mine told me about another place to check into. Said it would be perfect for us.” Heath tugged at his slipping towel. “Since tomorrow’s Good Friday, they’ll probably be closed. I’ll have to wait until Monday to call, but it sounds like a good deal.”
Dillon shook his head, prepared to argue this one as long as he had to. “I told you, Heath, I’m not gonna let you give up your place for me. You’ve already done enough.”
“Look, little brother--” Heath was cut off when the door swung open so fast it shook on its hinges.
Megan came running in, her face flushed, her jacket half-on, half-off. She skidded to a halt as soon as she saw Heath. “Nice outfit.”
Heath did one of those all-over blushes, causing Dillon to burst out laughing as his brother ran to the bedroom to put on some clothes. Dillon looked at Megan and grinned. “Did you come over here just to embarrass the shit out of my brother, or was there something you wanted to talk about?”
“I have something I want to show you. No talking required.” Megan gave him a crooked grin. “Well, not by me, anyway.” When Dillon hesitated in his rise from the couch, Megan came forward with her customary impatience and grabbed his hand. “Come on, already. Everybody’s waiting.”
Everybody? Dillon followed Megan to the front door of the apartment, opening it to find a bevy full of Nash’s--namely Gale, Dean, Nate and Brandon--filling the outside corridor.
The first to speak was Brandon, who had his shoulder propped against a concrete post. “Heard you have a housing crisis on your hands here, kid.”
Dillon glared at Megan, causing Brandon to laugh. “Before you let Megan have it, Dillon, you should know that she’s not the one I heard it from.”
Dillon had a feeling he wasn’t gonna like this next part. “Who did you hear it from?”
“I heard it from good ole’ Dougie, himself. Seems when you didn’t take your dad up on his offer to have Nate and me charged as pedophiles, Douglas got pissed and decided to try pressing charges against us on his own. Yesterday, he told the chief of police, Ronald Skinner, that Nate and I had corrupted you, locked you up and violated you any number of ways.” Brandon grinned. “When Skinner got done laughing, he asked Doug for proof. Since Doug didn’t have any, Skinner threw him out on his ass, told Doug if he came back without proof to back up his allegations he’d throw him in jail for filing a false report.”
Heath came to the door then, fully clothed and wearing his coat. Dillon had been so wrapped up in what Brandon was saying, he hadn’t realized he’d forgotten his own jacket. He was just turning to go get it when Heath handed it over. “Here, take it, dumbass, before you freeze to death. I swear you need a keeper.” While Dillon shrugged into his coat, Heath turned to Bran. “Did I hear you mention our old man?”
“Yep. After trying to convince the chief of police that Nate and I are a couple of rapists, your dear old dad came to see me.”
Dillon groaned. “Oh no.”
Nate came up behind Brandon, slipping his arms around his husband’s waist. “Oh yes. I’d just gotten done with a double shift at the hospital and had come to the station to take Bran out for supper. I got there about the same time as Doug did.”
Brandon snorted. “And Doug is damn lucky Nate was there, too. I don’t think anyone else could have calmed me down when Doug started spouting about perverts and fornicators. The real kicker, though, came when Dougie started bragging about having you and Heath evicted. God, I wanted to hit that son-of-a-bitch.” Brandon glanced at his mother who was standing a few feet to his right. “Sorry, Mom.”
Gale waved him away. “Oh, please. I’ve heard worse talk than that at the Sunday dinner table.”
Dean snaked his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “She’s said worse than that at the Sunday table.”
Gale ever so gently stomped on her husband’s foot. “Anyway, when Brandon found out what happened, he called Megan to see if she knew anything about your impending eviction. I just happened to overhear the conversation.”
It was Megan’s turn to snort, the sound echoing around the corridor from where she stood between Dillon and Heath. “Overhead my butt. You were listening on the upstairs extension.”
Gale gave an unapologetic shrug. “A good mother always knows what’s going on with her children. And, Dillon, if you come and live with us, I promise never to listen in on your conversations. Well, almost never.”
Dillon’s head was spinning. “You want me to come and live with you?”
“Of course, Dean and I have plenty of room, and we think of you as family. We’d love to have you stay with us.”
Brandon clasped his hands with Nate’s. “Well, Nate and I want you to come live with us, and, no offense to my mother, but we won’t listen in to your phone calls, either.”