Something Like Winter Read online

  Ben shook his head, refusing to accept what Tim had said. When he tried to come close again, Tim shoved him hard enough that Ben hit the ground, eyes wide as he tumbled backwards. Ben clutched at the grass, staring up at him in complete disbelief, probably because he would never in a million years do the same to him. Tim hated himself more than ever. The hurt and shock on Ben’s face was killing him, so he turned away and went back inside.

  Of course the stupid party had adjourned to the living room, every head turning his direction when he entered.

  “This is our son, Timothy,” his mother announced.

  He stopped on his way up the stairs and stared at them—all those happy couples, dressed in their nicest outfits and beaming at him over their drinks. Boy-girl, boy-girl, boy-girl. They existed in pairs, and no one would ever question their right to do so. Tim despised them for being normal, for being happy.

  “Everything okay?” his father asked, an edge of warning in his tone.

  “It was a rough game.”

  “He plays baseball,” his mother explained.

  There was chorus of murmured understanding. Of course! What else would a guy be upset about?

  Tim turned and tromped up the stairs to his room, locking the door. He left the light off so he could see out the window. There, just off to the side, stood a shadowy form with its head bowed, shoulders shaking. Ben kept standing there, waiting for Tim to come back, waiting for him to undo the horrible things that he had done. But he wouldn’t. Tim watched him, one step back from the window so he couldn’t be seen, and joined Ben in his tears. Eventually, the lonely silhouette shook its weary head and disappeared into the night.

  Chapter Eleven

  There were no happy gay couples on TV. No gay president with his handsome and charming “first gentlemen” at his side. Ellen DeGeneres had come out earlier in the year, and the media had exploded, making Tim squirm as much as Ben had grinned. Ben saw it as progress, while Tim felt it was evidence that the world wouldn’t accept them, that being gay was A Very Big Deal. He supposed he could name some musicians who had come out once their bank accounts were fat enough to make them untouchable, but Tim didn't know if any of them had healthy long-term relationships.

  Ben probably knew. If Tim called him right now, he would probably rattle off a list of inspiring role models. Then again, he never had before, and Ben had never held back in his attempt to convince Tim that being gay was okay. The irony was that Ben had finally convinced Tim of one thing, but the price of that truth was saying goodbye.

  Tim was gay. He had to be, because his insides ached without end. He had never felt this way about anyone. Krista was more a necessity, Carla a strange sort of infatuation, but neither they nor the girls that came before them had carved their names into his heart like Ben had. Or become so intertwined with his soul that he questioned who he was without them. He loved Ben, but that didn’t change a thing.

  He couldn’t relive Kansas again, couldn’t bear the brunt of all that hate. And his parents—he barely had them as it was. They would finally have an excuse to get rid of him, to toss him in a military academy or boarding school and leave him there to rot. Then they would be free to live their lives as they had intended while Tim was left with nothing.

  He couldn’t stand the idea. Maybe he could handle losing his father, but not his mother or his grandmother with her big open arms. She was just as Catholic and would cry even harder over Tim dooming himself to Hell.

  Coward.

  That was the word that stood out most the next time Tim heard Ben sing. He knew Ben would be at the high school talent show, performing a song with Allison. They had been practicing for months. Tim didn’t want to go, but his friends had egged him on, not wanting to miss making fun of all the losers. But even they had taken a break from flinging insults when Ben and Allison broke into song.

  Ben had found Tim, searching the audience until their eyes met. Then Ben sang like never before. His voice had always brought Tim to new emotional heights, but now it smacked him down, cutting him just as much as it had once healed him.

  The verses of the song couldn’t have been more appropriate, crafted just for him, and coward was the word that stung the most. Because it was true. Frozen stood out too, but more as sage advice. Over the coming weeks, Tim tried to kill his emotions, to clamp down on his love for Ben. Eventually he began to get the hang of it. He tore up the letter Ben left in his locker that said there wouldn’t be any trouble from the police. And when Tim went to his studio, shredding the painting of Ben’s face with a box knife, he didn’t feel a thing. Almost.

  There were parties and there were friends, and when Tim’s parents bothered to turn their attention to him, it wasn’t with sorrow or hate. That’s more than Tim could say for himself when he looked in the mirror. But he pressed on, because that’s all anyone could do. Just keep moving on.

  When the doorbell rang one evening, Tim remained in bed. For a while he had been on edge, expecting Ben to do something crazy, but he no longer had that fear. Not after the song Ben had sung. A pang of doubt came when his mother called him from downstairs, but her voice sounded much too happy for the visitor to be Ben. He soon saw why.

  Waiting at the bottom of the stairs was a beautiful girl, exchanging pleasant words with his mother, to which Ella responded with smiles and happy little laughs.

  “Stacy!” Tim said, not hiding his surprise. “Come on up.”

  His mother made a face, like he was being naughty and she approved. The idea hadn’t even occurred to him.

  “Not bad,” Stacy said when she was in his room, walking around and inspecting the details.

  They had gotten along well over the past month. Ever since her drunken pass at him—or vice versa—she had treated him with a little more respect. And she never mentioned Ben. Done looking around, she sat on the edge of the bed. Tim seriously hoped she wasn’t here to take him up on that offer.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “Darryl is planning to ask Krista to the prom.”

  Tim shrugged. “She doesn’t belong to me. I’m not going to get jealous or anything.”

  Stacy fixed him with a patient expression. “Darryl,” she repeated. “Think about it.”

  True, it was odd for Darryl. He usually chose from the circle of girls who wished they were popular, girls inevitably dazzled by his status and then dumped as soon as they put out.

  “Oh.”

  “Exactly,” Stacy said. “I guess he’s looking for a new conquest, something more of a challenge, because we all know what happens on prom night.”

  “Should I have a talk with him?” But Tim already knew what she was asking.

  “Do you think talking to him would make a difference?” Stacy made a show of checking her nails. “Krista still raves about you. A lot. I know men live for the thrill of the chase, so I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but she regrets that you weren’t her first. I mean, you still could be. She hasn’t made any mistakes, but I know firsthand how pushy Darryl can be.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yes.”

  And even though Krista had never meant that much to him, Tim hated the idea of Darryl plying her with depth-chargers or some other kind of alcohol before putting his toadish hands all over her. So yes, Tim would take Krista to the prom, take her in any way she saw fit. He would smile at her, whisper sweet words into her ear, and make her feel like a princess—but he wouldn’t feel a thing. He knew now that he couldn’t.

  * * * * *

  Despite his resolve, Tim still felt a spark the next time he ran into Ben. They hadn’t seen each other since the talent show two months ago. Just the sight of him was enough to conjure up conflicting emotions. Ben was wearing a pale green polo shirt with an ice cream cone stitched on the left side of his chest. That he had a summer job now made Tim feel empty, like they were already strangers.

  Ben seemed distracted, looking at the houses beyond the bike path. He hadn’t yet noticed Tim or the two people he
was with. Bryce was on his left. Tim could tell from his low chuckle that he had noticed Ben. On his right was Bryce’s cousin Trey, visiting for the summer and also the one to blame for them walking. They were on their way back from buying weed, and Trey was jittery, not wanting them to drive in case they were pulled over.

  “Well, well. If it isn’t the village faggot!” Bryce rumbled.

  Ben was startled, noticing them at last. First he looked up at Bryce. Then he saw Tim. When their eyes met, Tim tried to send him a telepathic message. Just keep walking. Don’t stop and don’t respond.

  And maybe Ben would have if Bryce hadn’t blocked his way. “What are you doing out here? Looking for some cock to suck?”

  Tim clenched his jaw, but it fell open when he heard Ben’s response.

  “You’ll have to pull your skanky girlfriend off the football team if you want that. I’m definitely not interested.”

  Tim nearly laughed, but then Bryce grabbed Ben by the shirt and yanked him forward. This wasn’t good. Not good at all.

  “What did you say?” Bryce shouted, spittle splattering Ben’s face.

  “Leave him alone,” Tim said, moving forward to break it up.

  “He called my girlfriend a slut!” Bryce snarled.

  “Technically,” Ben replied, “I said she was skanky. She’s also a brain-dead snob, but I guess that’s your common bond, isn’t it?”

  Bryce dropped Ben, causing him to stumble, and hauled back his fist. Tim barely got there in time, pushing himself between them.

  Bryce eyed him like a bull seeing red. “What the fuck?”

  “Forget him,” Tim said. “Let’s just go.”

  Bryce considered him a second longer, then with surprising speed, shoved Tim aside with his left arm and brought a right hook around. But Tim wasn’t the target. He heard a sound like a fleshy thunderclap before Ben hit the ground.

  That piece of shit! Tim leapt like a tiger, his insides a volcano. He got two punches to Bryce’s face while he was still airborne, and had only landed on his feet for a second before a meaty fist crunched into his nose. Seeing stars, Tim punched blindly, connecting with what felt like Bryce’s thick neck. Then his right eye closed instinctively before being struck twice. It was like getting hit by a car! Tim put everything into his next swing, knowing he didn’t have too many left, and—bull’s-eye!—hit Bryce on the side of the head, his class ring connecting with his temple.

  Bryce groaned, swayed on his feet, then hit the ground. Tim wasn’t leaving anything to chance. He leapt on top of Bryce and kept on swinging.

  “Get off my cousin!” he heard Trey yell from behind, but no one tried to pull him off. He turned to see Ben plowing into Trey. Unlike Bryce, Trey was just a normal-sized guy, but Ben was smaller than most. Tim winced as Trey elbowed Ben in the face, knocking him down. He was on his feet when Ben counterattacked, punching Trey in the nuts. Ben was still kicking, punching, and screaming when Tim grabbed his wrist.

  “Run!”

  For once Ben listened. They took off down the path, this time staying together. A couple of twists and turns and they were in familiar territory. Tim followed Ben’s lead, and before long they were standing in the Bentleys’ driveway, clutching at their stomachs and trying to catch their breath. Tim raised his head at the same time Ben did, their eyes meeting. Then they laughed.

  “Thanks,” Ben panted.

  Tim shook his head ruefully. “You and your big mouth.”

  Ben chuckled, his puppy-dog eyes wet with joy before they softened. “Do you want to come inside?”

  Yeah. More than anything in the world. But the bloody nose and the soon-to-be bruises were nothing like the pain Tim had felt that night in his backyard. And Ben, so much better than he was, so fearless with his love, must have suffered even more. Tim would only hurt him again, hurt them both. The judgmental world around them hadn’t changed. Nothing had.

  “Goodbye, Benjamin.”

  Despite the heat of summer, when Tim turned away, he was certain he could feel the chill of winter inside his chest.

  * * * * *

  The phone kept ringing. Tim rolled over and put a pillow over his head to drown out the noise, wincing at the pressure on his bruises. His nose was the worst, swollen up like an apple in the center of his face. The answering machine kicked in, and a previous version of himself—sounding cocky and self-assured because the world still belonged to him—asked the caller to leave a message.

  “Look,” Stacy said after the beep, “you can either pick up the phone, or I’m coming over there.”

  Tim sighed, tossed the pillow away, and grabbed the phone.

  “What?”

  Stacy recovered quickly. “You know you’ve committed social suicide, right?”

  Tim sighed. “I’m hanging up.”

  “Wait!”

  Despite his better judgment, Tim kept the phone pressed to his ear. “Just tell me what you want.”

  “I want to know the truth. You and Ben—”

  “We were friends.” Tim had already given thought to this. He wouldn’t be able to salvage his reputation at school. It was Kansas all over again, but he had to do everything he could to keep attention away from Ben. “His dad knows my dad, so when I first moved here, we hung out a couple of times.”

  “And then?”

  “And then school started, and I had my social status to think of.”

  “Which you should have done yesterday before you jumped Bryce.”

  “Maybe,” Tim said. “Look, I didn’t want to see Ben get beat up. He’s an okay guy, even if he is gay. There’s nothing more to it. If anything, I probably stopped Bryce from killing him and getting arrested.”

  The line was quiet. Then Stacy said, “What are you going to do? When summer is over I mean.”

  “Go to a different school. Maybe a private one. I don’t know. I won’t be back.”

  “That’s probably for the best.” Stacy almost sounded sad. “I’d fix this for you if I could, but even Darryl is screaming for your head.”

  “I figured.” Tim sighed. “And Krista?”

  “Well, it’s hardly going to work, is it? She either has to lose all her friends and change schools to be with you, or she moves on.”

  Tim closed his eyes. “Which do you think she’ll do?”

  “Whatever I tell her to,” Stacy said matter-of-factly.

  “I’m not going to be around, so—” He let the sentence hang.

  “I’ll plant the seed in her vacant little head,” Stacy said, “but I’m not breaking up with her for you.”

  Oh well. Worth a shot. Tim had done it once before. He could do it again.

  “Well,” Stacy said, “I guess this is goodbye.”

  “Wait! I need a favor. I mean, I figure you owe me.”

  Stacy scoffed. “I don’t owe anything to anyone.”

  But Tim had to try anyway. “Just make sure they don’t come down on Ben.”

  “Do you really think I can control what my boyfriend does?”

  “Yes!” Tim gave an exasperated laugh. “You have us all wrapped around your little finger. So will you?”

  “Why should I?” Stacy pressed.

  Tim swallowed. He would have to gamble, once last time. “You know why.”

  This time the line was quiet for so long that Tim wondered if she had hung up on him. “I guess Molly Desai was right about the cute ones.”

  “Don’t tell Krista.” He didn’t know why it mattered. Maybe because he didn’t want her to think that everything between them had been an act.

  “The last thing I need is her crying about that too.” Stacy paused. “I suppose beating up a gay guy is like hitting a girl. At least I’ll convince the boys of that and make them feel like wimps if the thought crosses their minds. They won’t touch Ben unless they want to be emasculated in the eyes of the school.”

  “Sounds good.” It was the best anyone could do. Hopefully Ben would make it through his senior year without any more trouble. “Thanks.”


  “Consider it a parting gift. For Ben, more than you, I suppose. Salvaging your social status is beyond even me.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “Not if Bryce gets a second chance,” Stacy said. “So what are you going to do with yourself, Mr. Wyman?”

  “Keep on running.” Tim sighed into the receiver. “It’s what I do best.”

  __________

  Part Two:

  Austin, 1999

  __________

  Chapter Twelve

  Tim traced his finger along Travis Kingston’s back, playing connect-the-dots with the freckles scattered across his shoulders. The sheets were pulled down to his waist, the morning sun already hot. Travis stirred and yawned, running a hand through his mop of dark brown hair. Tim could imagine him rolling over, greeting the day and stealing a kiss, regardless of morning breath. Instead Travis jolted awake, like he always did, flipping over and sitting upright.

  He looked down at Tim, who almost mouthed the words along with him. “We shouldn’t have done that.”

  “But you were drunk,” Tim finished for him, flopping on his back with a sigh.

  “I was!”

  “So was I. So was the whole damn fraternity, but you don’t see them in bed with us, do you?”

  “Don’t be disgusting.” As Travis got out of bed, Tim checked him out and wished, just once, that they could have a normal morning. That as closeted as they were, they could recognize the door was locked, their fraternity brothers were sleeping off their drink, and this private moment was perfect for a little fun.

  Instead, Travis knocked over empty beer bottles on his way out of bed, scurrying with a panicked expression to stop them from rolling too far along the floor. As if the noise would give away what he and Tim had done—what they always did, but only when drunk.