Something in him broke. Theo felt sick. And guilty, which was—irritating.

“Gardner—wait, I—”

Gardner was staring through the lead-paned windows onto the once perfectly maintained lawn.

“Look, I—”

“Don’t strain yourself.”

“Ugh,” Theo scoffed. “Why are you so—even now—”

“I know you don’t like me, all right? Never have. And I—” Gardner looked as if he wanted to say something, then changed his mind at the last moment. “I don’t particularly like you. I just wanted to—”

“Thanks,” Theo interrupted, fast, like he should get it over with and forget it as soon as possible. “For checking. And for the...apology. Whatever.”

Gardner looked at him, surprised.

Took a step forward.

“I’m—not all right. But maybe I—”

“You will be.” Gardner’s face was so serious and unexpectedly understanding.

Theo had never missed an opportunity to mock him—his ugly clothes, his loser friends, his poor manners—but maybe he...maybe those all came from somewhere.

What had happened in Jack Gardner’s life, to make him look at Theo like that, like he knew...there was some commonality, a knowledge that Theo had only recently attained, that it seemed like Jack had known for a long time. He thought about his cruelty.

It wasn’t much fun for Theo to examine the ways in which he’d been a total bastard.

“Maybe.”

“Yeah.”

Gardner had been moving closer, lifting his rough hand again, and he almost put it on Theo’s face. Theo’s body thrummed with—with the way Gardner had looked at Pride, the glimmer of the night and his darkened eyes, and the intensity of his stare in the bell tower, and he wanted to be touched, now, more than anything he’d ever wanted. And he knew if Gardner touched him, put that hand on his face, he’d never be the same, and it would all be too real, and he just couldn’t live with that, and he jerked his head away, and Gardner stepped back.

“Goodbye, Gardner.”

He cleared his throat, a splotchy flush warming his face. “Bye, Beau.”

Theo closed his eyes and did not watch Gardner go.

And his head dropped, and there was a scream inside of him. Like he had been denied something.

He picked up another glass.

The sound of it crashing against the wall was less satisfying now.

Now. He had to do it now.

He had to get out of here.

Chapter Nine

Jack hadn’t realized that one chance meeting—in a closet, no less, and he’d laugh at that if he had the heart—when he was fourteen years old would change his destiny.

At Gwynns, they’d always trotted him out for fundraisers and alumni cocktail parties, and he had borne it, grateful to be there but itchy in borrowed clothes which didn’t fit quite right, and maybe weren’t meant to.