Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 8

he was in no hurry to know about.
    "Mom was on the phone to a lawyer. She said, oh Jesus, Trey, she was asking what would happen to Coach Lindgrom for getting caught... caught..." Josh stopped and buried his face in his knees. Through his sobs, Trey made out the words, "He raped Felix."
    "He what??" Trey grabbed Josh's shoulders and forced him up away from his knees, bending to fix his gaze on Josh's eyes. "Coach did what?"
    Josh stared back at him. He was really crying. "How could someone do that to a kid? Felix is ten! Jesus, Trey, he's just ten. And that guy hurt him, hurt my little brother. Fucking fag hurt my brother, and it's never going to be okay. I hate him. I hate that damned faggot!"
    "Are you sure?" Trey realized he was shaking Josh hard. He snatched his hands away, rubbing his palms together, as if to scrub off the touch. "Maybe you heard wrong. Maybe there's been a mistake. Coach wouldn't do that, you know he wouldn't." He shook his head, trying to breathe over the pounding of his heart. Not Coach, with his strong body and his firm voice and his big hands, that Trey had looked at over and over their own last summer... "We had Lindgrom for years ourselves, every summer. He didn't... you know he wouldn't..."
    Josh glared at him. "I'm not wrong! I heard Mom! She said it was going on for months. She told the lawyer Felix was, was abused for months and then that bastard, they caught him. She said Felix was bleeding, was in hospital... Oh, God, Trey!" Josh fell toward him and Trey caught him in a rough embrace. As Josh's tears soaked into Trey's T-shirt he rocked them together, rubbing Josh's shoulders with one hand. Josh whispered, "I hate that cock-sucking faggot son-of-a-bitch." And Trey, already knowing what his own body wanted, said over and over, "Me too. I hate that faggot too." Holy Christ, how true that had been.
    The memory did its work, taking the heat out of those thoughts of Josh, leaving Trey sick and cold. Felix had recovered from his months of escalating abuse at the hands of a baseball coach, although even when the Campbells left town two years later he'd been quiet and withdrawn and not the ebullient little boy Trey remembered. And for those two years Trey had never, ever done anything to let Josh know he was one of them . One of the faggots who robbed Felix of his childhood, and left Josh mired in hate.
    Trey sighed. It had taken him long enough to get over hating himself for being gay. He hadn't dated in high-school. He couldn't be straight, he wouldn't be gay. Josh thought Trey was a romantic, mooning around waiting for the right girl. He kept trying to fix Trey up and Trey kept dodging. The one double date Josh blackmailed him into was an odd form of torture, watching Josh and his girl-du-jour necking in the backseat of the car while Trey used the fact he was driving as an excuse to barely look at his own date. Come to think of it, the one thing Trey had refused to give Josh in high-school was any repeat of that little disaster.
    It had taken the wider world of college, and a man with gentle hands and a patient nature, to persuade Trey that being gay and being a pedophile had nothing to do with one another. Charlie had told Trey those were lies, perpetrated by bigots who feared what they didn't understand. Told him that again and again, with soft touches and simple kisses, until Trey began to believe it. Charlie had opened Trey's eyes, and eventually his body, but even Charlie never touched his heart.
    Trey had almost convinced himself he was just looking for the right guy. He'd had fun with guys. He liked sex. And twice since then he'd dated an attractive man more than a couple of times, and almost convinced himself it could work. But somewhere deep inside Trey knew better. He wasn't waiting for the right man. He'd already found him. It was some kind of cruel cosmic joke that Josh was Felix's brother, straight, homophobic, and the one man Trey could never have.
    Trey realized he was shivering and turned the water hot. It ran near-scalding over his scalp and stung on his burned fingertips. He sighed, cranked it off, and stepped out. The evening stretched before him. He'd planned to get online, IM with a few friends, check out an online serial for a new episode. And email Josh. Shit.
    He dried off, pulled on a pair of silk boxers, and wandered down to the kitchen. He didn't want another beer, but he got out a glass of grapefruit juice and put some tonic water in it. The lovely sour