“And you’re really some hands!” Ricky replied.
“You feeling okay?” Diego asked.
“I feel great!” Ricky said. And he did.
“Nice. I’m buzzing too.”
The DJ finally ran out of oxygen and put on another song. This one slower. “Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover” by Sophie B. Hawkins.
“This is one of my favorites,” Ricky said, taking a step forward.
Diego didn’t disappoint him. He opened his arms and wrapped them around Ricky. They began to sway and pivot. Diego felt so good, his chest warm and strong. Ricky clung to him even tighter, all the feelings inside him seeming to harmonize with the music. This had to be love. He’d felt it before, although it was sometimes hard to remember through the painful memories how good it had been. This was even better. Almost too good to be true. But it was. He raised himself up on his tippy-toes so he could reach Diego’s lips. The arms tightened around him, his feet leaving the ground momentarily as Diego leaned back, their mouths still locked. He only set Ricky down again when the song ended. Although the room kept spinning. And didn’t stop.
“I feel…” Ricky trailed off, unable to find the words, but he was reminded of his suicide attempt when he’d swallowed a bunch of pills and felt high before it had all gone south. “I’m not going to puke, am I? Or pass out?” His heart was racing, the room still spinning. “I think I’m having a bad trip!”
“Hey,” Diego said, cupping Ricky’s cheeks in his hands. “Hey! Look at me!”
Ricky forced himself to focus on those copper-colored eyes, which remained confident and calm. “You’ll be fine. Do you hear me? The cookies turned out a little stronger than I expected, that’s all.”
Ricky’s eyes widened. “Am I going to overdose?”
Diego laughed. “I’ve been exactly where you are now plenty of times. Enough to know that you’ll feel fine again soon. Trust me, okay?”
Ricky nodded. Except when Diego released him, he felt so woozy that he had to sit down. “Are you sure I’m not having an allergic reaction?” he asked.
“Yeah. I’m sure. You just need to get your mind on other things.”
“I don’t like this song,” he complained. “It’s weird.”
“It’s a commercial,” Diego said, turning off the radio.
“Oh. I think I need to lie down.”
Ricky crawled on his hands and knees toward the sleeping bag and struggled with the zipper.
“Here.” Diego moved to help.
“I don’t want to ruin our night,” Ricky murmured while watching him unfold the sleeping bag. “I want to be with you.”
“I’m right here,” Diego said.
Ricky rolled onto the padded surface. “Yeah, but I want to be with you,” he said, pulling on Diego’s arm.
“Okay.” Diego stretched out next to him, holding him from behind. “Just think happy thoughts,” he said. “I know that sounds lame, but it works.”
Ricky clung to the arm that was pressed against his chest, his hand wrapping around Diego’s wrist. He couldn’t help thinking of the burn marks that the handcuffs had left there. “Do you still feel like running away?” he asked.
“Sometimes,” Diego replied after a moment of silence.
“I’d go with you,” Ricky murmured.
“I don’t think you’d like that.”
“I would,” he insisted.
“You have a nice family,” Diego said. “And a nice home. But maybe we could take a trip down to El Paso together. You could meet my grandma.”
“What’s she like?”
“Normal.” Diego said the word with longing, which just about broke Ricky’s heart.
“I’ll be your family,” he said. “If you need me to be.”
“Happy thoughts,” Diego reminded him. “Forget about me. Do you like the candles?”
“Yeah!” Ricky said. Especially around the edge of the cave, where it was darker. The flames there were almost like little stars if he blurred his eyes. He watched them twinkle, Diego’s chest swelling and contracting in even breaths. Ricky tried matching him, breathing out each time Diego breathed in. Soon his eyelids felt heavy and so he closed them, content to imagine a swirl of stars surrounding the sleeping bag as they drifted through the cosmos together.
CHAPTER 4
February 14th, 1993
Cameron pulled into his driveway and put the station wagon in park, but he didn’t turn off the engine. The evening had been a success. After walking around downtown, they had dinner at the Garden of Eatin’, a vegetarian restaurant that Cameron was beginning to think of as their special place. Afterwards they went to a bookstore where a local band played. They had sipped coffee while listening to music, leaning close on occasion to murmur words into each other’s ears. Everything had been perfect. But he was worried it wouldn’t last.
“Let’s go to your place instead,” he suggested.
Anthony shook his head. “My parents made my brother and me promise not to come home before ten. You can imagine why. I prefer not to.”
“Oh.” Cameron finally turned the key and removed it from the ignition.
“We can go somewhere else,” Anthony said, perhaps noticing that he hadn’t unbuckled his seatbelt yet. “Although it has to be somewhere private enough to give you that massage.”
Cameron looked at his boyfriend. The pink hair matched lips that were smirking slightly, his green eyes sparkling in invitation. Anthony’s features were even and fine, like a doll. Cameron reached over to touch his cheek, Anthony nuzzling his face against his hand.
“No,” he said at last. “Let’s stay here.”
Anthony nodded, capturing his hand to kiss it before letting go.
Cameron eyed the house as they approached the front door. The living room window flickered with blue light. He took a deep breath and held it when sliding his key into the lock, trying to do so quietly in case his mother had fallen asleep in front of the TV again. For once, he hoped that she had.
Cameron placed a finger to his lips before leading them through the entryway. He could hear commercials playing in the other room. They had reached the bottom of the stairs when his mother’s voice brought them to a halt.
“You’re home!” Brenda said, tottering toward them with a wine bottle at the end of one arm. “And you brought your little boyfriend with you.” Her brown hair was sticking up on the side, a smear of lipstick near the corner of her mouth. “Although he’s too tall to be called little.” She tilted her head and smiled. “How are you, hon?”
Anthony didn’t seem disturbed by her behavior. Instead he smiled. “I’m good. Mrs. Huxley,” he said warmly. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
“And he’s so darn polite!” Brenda said, pinching Anthony’s cheek and jiggling it. “Don’t let this one get away,” she said, turning to her son. “He’s perfect. I can’t wait to be at the wedding.”
“Mom,” Cameron said with a hint of warning that she, thank goodness, picked up on. Although not for the right reason.