plik

NGEL

OICES

…Quinn reached out and touched his forehead again, his hand cool

against Will‟s burning skin. “You‟re in the hospital; you passed out at
the church last night. Do you remember?”

Will remembered being at the church; remembered Quinn‟s

worried face and the other, older guy, and talk of calling his parents—
Shit! He struggled to sit up, panicking that any minute his father was
going to come through that door and he would be so pissed…

Quinn pushed him back down embarrassingly easily. “Hey, don‟t

go anywhere!”

“My parents! Did they call my parents?”
“No, baby, we didn‟t. You freaked out when Bennigan said that, so

we didn‟t. We brought you here instead. Do you remember that?”

Will shook his head, but the movement only made it hurt worse.

He heard a whining noise and realized it was him. “I just remember
the church.”

Quinn gently cupped his cheek and said again, “Shh, baby, it‟s

okay. Can you tell me what happened? You wouldn‟t let us call the
police, either.”

“I fell,” he said dully. He sort of remembered saying that before.
“Right,” Quinn said, and his voice was flat. It didn‟t sound right;

Quinn‟s voice was part of what was beautiful about him, so lively and
expressive. Quinn MacLachlan didn‟t do flat. “You fell multiple times
on your face and cracked your own damn ribs.”

Well, that explained why it hurt to move. “Oh,” he said.
“Will.”
He opened his eyes again—when had he closed them?—and

looked up into Quinn‟s face. The shards of anger he saw in Quinn‟s
eyes faded and were replaced by concern. “Did your father do this to
you?”

He didn‟t answer. He couldn‟t…

ANGEL VOICES

ROWAN SPEEDWELL

MBER

UILL

RESS

LLC

http://www.AmberQuill.com

NGEL

OICES

MBER

UILL

RESS

OOK

This book is a work of fiction.

All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the

author‟s imagination, or have been used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales,

or events is entirely coincidental.

Amber Quill Press, LLC

http://www.AmberQuill.com

No portion of this book may be transmitted or

reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in

writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief

excerpts used for the purposes of review.

ISBN 978-1-61124-227-0

PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

ANGEL VOICES

ANGEL VOICES

Light and music streamed out of the church, stained glass

casting tall flares of color on the snow, a luminous accompaniment
to  the  music,  organ,  and  angelic  voices  drifting  through  the  open
double  doors.  The  angels  obviously  needed  practice;  they  would
sing  a  line,  then  stop  a  moment  while  some  invisible  conductor
made some inaudible comment, then sing the line over and maybe,
maybe, get as far as the next line before stopping again.

Will stood in the purple light emanating from around some

saint‟s head and listened a moment, caught in the tenuous beauty
that contrasted sharply with the ugliness he felt. He ached all over,
his feet throbbing in time to the pounding in his head, his hands,
his chest, his heart. The church was the first open place he‟d seen
in his eight-mile-plus walk—at least the only open place he‟d seen

ANGEL VOICES

that wouldn‟t require cash outlay of some kind for food or drink or
a ticket. He could keep walking; his dorm was only across the
campus, but all the way across campus, and he was tired, and cold.
And tired. So, without even thinking much about it, he climbed the
two steps up to the broad church porch and went through the open,
welcoming doors.

The lights in the nave of the church were on full, though the

ones up around the altar were dark—except for that red one that he
knew was something important, but didn‟t have the energy to think
about.  He  wasn‟t  religious;  his  parents  were,  but  theirs  was  a
different  faith  than  the  one  this  church  housed.  Their  religion
didn‟t live in tall, cathedral-like places like this, with colored glass,
lamp-like  chandeliers,  and  wood  carvings  and  statues.  Theirs  was
cold and modern, at least in terms of the buildings.

This place was foreign, but it was warm, despite the open

doors.  The  wood  pews  looked  worn  and  well-used,  golden  in  the
lamplight.  The  lamps  cast  pockets  of  shadow  where  they  weren‟t
quite  as  bright,  like  back  here  in  the  very  last  row,  over  by  the
wall, underneath the balcony where the choir was practicing. Will
gratefully  slipped  into  a  pew,  leaning  back  against  the  warm
golden wood and letting his duffel fall onto the floor beside him. It
was so weird to be happy to just sit down.

He‟d come in during one of the quiet moments. Now that he

was inside, he could hear the voice of the director or conductor or
whatever  the  head  person  of  a  choir  was  called,  but  he  still
couldn‟t  quite  understand  what  he  was  saying.  Then  the  voice
stopped  speaking,  and  Will  heard  the  faint  rapping  of  his  stick  or
baton or whatever. The choir burst out singing again.

The acoustics inside the church made the sound richer and

more beautiful. He listened, dazed by the purity of it.

ANGEL VOICES

And then a single voice, male, clear, powerful and impossibly

sweet, rose over the rest in a solo that sent a shudder through
Will‟s heart: “Fall on your knees… Oh, hear the angel voices…”

Will took his frozen hands from his jeans pockets, put his

striped wool scarf over his face, and started to cry.

* * *

“Okay, okay,” Bennigan said, waving his hands absently.

“Fifteen minutes potty break, then we‟ll go through the rest of the
program. Quinn, good job on the solo, but I still think you need a
little more punch on the „fall‟ so that it really stands out. Wake the
sleeping millions, got it?”

“Yes, sir!” Quinn saluted in cheerful mockery, and headed to

the stairs from the choir loft, beating the rest of the group to the
door and lunging in his usual headlong way down the worn stairs.

“One of these days you‟re gonna fall and break your neck,”

Sean said behind him.

“Not him,” Ellen said in disgust. “Leads a charmed life.”
“I do, I really do,” Quinn agreed, and opened the door out into

the nave, the rest following, chattering, as he led the way to the
restrooms at the rear of the church.

On his way back, as he wiped his hands on his sweatshirt

because  the  stupid  blow  dryers  in  the  bathrooms  never  dried
properly, he saw the figure huddled in the very last pew on the far
side  of  the  nave.  He  would  have  just  taken  the  figure  for  a  street
person  who  had  come  in  to  get  warm,  but  it  wore  the  green,  blue
and  orange  striped  scarf  his  roommate  Will  had  had  on  over  his
denim jacket  when  he‟d  left that  afternoon  for the holiday  break.
He‟d said something about the jacket not being warm enough, and

ANGEL VOICES

Will  had  just  muttered  something  about  having  a  ride  home.  The
response was typical of Will: their conversations tended to be brief
at  best.  Not  that  Quinn  minded;  Will  was  a  quiet,  considerate
roommate, tidy and undemanding, if impossibly  shy. He  was nice
to  look  at,  too:  a  bit  gangly,  like  most  teenaged  guys,  but  with
strong bone structure under his pale skin, hair the color of autumn
leaves, and eyes the green of spring.

The guy in the corner had Will‟s untidy dark red hair, and the

denim jacket. Quinn frowned. That didn‟t make sense—when Will
had left, he‟d had his duffel with him and was clearly going home.
Had his ride fallen through? Why hadn‟t he gone back to the room,
then? “Will?” he said quietly, crossing the flagstone aisle to the
pew where Will sat.

There wasn‟t any answer. Was he asleep? Quinn slid down the

pew to his side and sat, touching his roommate‟s shoulder gently.
“Will?” he said again.

The boy started, and looked over at Quinn in a disoriented

panic.

Quinn‟s hand fell away. “Holy fucking shit, Will, what

happened? Were you mugged?”

The kid‟s face was a bloody mess, the skin blooming with

bruises, his nose swollen, crusted with blood, and muddy with
tears and dirt. His hands, too, were dirty, and red with cold. He
reached up and pulled the scarf away from his face. His mouth was
swollen, the lip split. “Quinn?” he said in confusion.

“Yeah, kid, it‟s me. What happened? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I‟m fine.” Will sat up straighter, winced, then shifted

away from Quinn‟s reaching hand. “I‟m okay. I just stopped in—I
heard the singing. It was good.”

“What happened to you?”

ANGEL VOICES

Quinn looked up to see Bennigan standing in the aisle on the

other side of Will. “Were you mugged? Did you want us to call the
police?”

“No, no police.” Will put his hands up and shook his head. “It‟s

nothing. I‟m fine. I just… I just fell. It‟s okay.”

“It‟s not okay, and that‟s not from a fall. I thought you were

going home. Were you in some kind of accident?”

“We need to call his parents,” Bennigan said.
“No! No parents! It‟s nothing!” Will stood up, his hands

waving frantically in denial, then went pasty beneath the bruises
and collapsed into Quinn‟s arms in a dead faint.

* * *

Will‟s hands were burning. Someone had set them on fire, and

they  were  burning.  The  skin  was  melting  like  the  bad  guys  at  the
end  of  Raiders  of  the  Lost  Ark,  and  pretty  soon  they  would
disintegrate. He‟d never be able to draw another straight line, and
there  went  his  engineering  career,  and  his  father  would  be  so
pissed.

He could see it now, the old man‟s face livid purple with rage,

his big hands coming up in fists and smashing into his nose. God,
that hurt, but he could still breathe, so it wasn‟t broken, wasn‟t that
how it went? Then the other fist into his gut so the breath shot out
his mouth, and then the blows coming fast and furious, punctuated
with screaming. His or someone‟s, with “faggot! Fucking little
faggot!” coming from his father‟s mouth.

“No,” he moaned, and something cool touched his forehead.
A soft voice said, “It‟s okay, Will. It‟s okay.”
He opened his eyes to bright whiteness and confusion. After a

ANGEL VOICES

moment,  he  recognized  the  voice.  That  was  Quinn—they‟d  been
roommates  for  the  last  couple  of  months,  his  freshman  year  at
college.

Quinn was a music major, and also a freshman. Will

remembered  his  father‟s  disdain  for  him  and  his  complaint  that
Will  should  have  had  his  own  room  and  not  have  to  share  with  a
“fairy-boy nigger”—but Will was on a scholarship and didn‟t have
anything  to  say  in  the  arrangements.  The  scholarship  required  he
live  on  campus  for  the  first  year,  despite  his  family  living  in  the
area—another thing that annoyed his father—and the college gave
him no choice as to roommates.

He‟d done what his father had told him, though, and kept to

himself,  watching  with  envious  eyes  as  Quinn  made  friends  with
everyone  on  the  floor  and  quietly  rejecting  any  overtures  of
friendship  toward  himself.  It  had  been  so  hard:  Quinn  was  witty
and  outgoing  and  so  damn,  damn  beautiful,  with  his  creamy  café
au lait skin and bright dark eyes and silky brown curls, soft, loose,
and  tipped  with  gold.  He‟d  never  seen  hair  like  that  on  a  guy
anywhere  before,  and  he  wondered  if  Quinn‟s  obviously  mixed
race was the source or if he colored it that way, like women did.

Those pretty eyes weren‟t so bright now; they were dull with

worry and fatigue. “Quinn?” It hurt to talk; his head felt stuffy and
his throat was sore. And God, his head ached—hell, everything
ached.

“Shh. It‟s okay. You‟re gonna be fine.” Quinn reached out and

touched his forehead again, his hand cool against Will‟s burning
skin. “You‟re in the hospital; you passed out at the church last
night. Do you remember?”

Will remembered being at the church; remembered Quinn‟s

worried face and the other, older guy, and talk of calling his

ANGEL VOICES

parents—shit! He struggled to sit up, panicking that any minute his
father was going to come through that door and he would be so
pissed…

Quinn pushed him back down embarrassingly easily. “Hey,

don‟t go anywhere!”

“My parents! Did they call my parents?”
“No, baby, we didn‟t. You freaked out when Bennigan said

that, so we didn‟t. We brought you here instead. Do you remember
that?”

Will shook his head, but the movement only made it hurt

worse. He heard a whining noise and realized it was him. “I just
remember the church.”

Quinn gently cupped his cheek and said again, “Shh, baby, it‟s

okay. Can you tell me what happened? You wouldn‟t let us call the
police, either.”

“I fell,” he said dully. He sort of remembered saying that

before.

“Right,” Quinn said, and his voice was flat. It didn‟t sound

right; Quinn‟s voice was part of what was beautiful about him, so
lively and expressive. Quinn MacLachlan didn‟t do flat. “You fell
multiple times on your face and cracked your own damn ribs.”

Well, that explained why it hurt to move. “Oh,” he said.
“Will.”
He opened his eyes again—when had he closed them?—and

looked up into Quinn‟s face. The shards of anger he saw in
Quinn‟s eyes faded and were replaced by concern. “Did your
father do this to you?”

He didn‟t answer. He couldn‟t.
“Fuck,” Quinn said. He smoothed the hair back from Will‟s

forehead. “How did you get back here? Did you even make it

ANGEL VOICES

home?”

“Yeah,” Will said, leaning into the caress like a cat seeking

petting fingers. “It, he, I—I walked back. I didn‟t have any money
for a cab or a bus or anything. Just my duffel bag. I didn‟t need any
money over break because one of the guys from my church goes
here and gave me a lift home.”

“Didn‟t you have your ATM card or anything?”
“I don‟t have one. Dad…” He didn‟t finish, but Quinn nodded

as if he knew what he was going to say. “I have a checkbook but
there wasn‟t anything open.”

“It‟s okay—wait a minute. You walked back? I thought you

lived in Airport Heights.”

“I do. I did. Yeah.”
“That‟s got to be ten miles from here. You walked the whole

way? Through those neighborhoods?”

Will sighed and didn‟t answer.
“Oh, baby. Fuck. Well, good thing you were smart enough to

figure I was at rehearsal.”

“I didn‟t. It was just…open. Warm. I was cold and tired.”
“Fuck. Will…”
“I just want to go home,” Will said plaintively.
“But I thought—”
“No, not there. Home. The dorm. Can we just go home now?”
Quinn‟s eyes were bright again, but it seemed to be from the

wetness in them. “Sure, baby,” he said in a husky voice not at all
like his usual smooth tenor. “We‟ll go home.”

* * *

The dorm building was mostly empty and quiet, with the

ANGEL VOICES

majority  of  its  tenants  gone  home  for  the  holidays.  Will  was
grateful no one was around to watch as he limped up the couple of
steps into the big old building, through the heavy oak door and into
the narrow, tiled vestibule. It had once been an apartment building,
built  back  in  the  late  1800‟s,  until  the  university  bought  and
renovated  it  into  dorm  rooms  and  suites  in  the  fifties.  They
renovated  it  again  in  the  nineties,  so  it  was  fairly  modern  and
comfortable.

Quinn and Will, as freshmen, were relegated to a double room

with bathroom facilities shared by the whole floor. Well, Quinn
was, Will thought miserably. He probably wouldn‟t be able to
continue here, since his scholarship came from his parents‟ church,
and would be cut off as soon as his father had had a chance to talk
to his pastor.

But for now, the place was still home, still a refuge, and his

cafeteria card was good until the 23

, at least, so he could eat for

another week. That was something.

Quinn had been quiet on the short drive from the hospital to the

dorm;  the  grad  student,  Bennigan,  who  had  been  conducting  the
rehearsal  the  night  before,  had  picked  them  up  there  and  dropped
them  at  the  door.  He  and  Quinn  had  been  exchanging  wordless
glances  the  whole  ride  home.  Will  figured  they  were  trying  to
figure  out  why  he  didn‟t  want  to  go  to  the  police,  or  maybe
Bennigan  had  figured  out  that  his  dad  had  given  him  the  bruises
and was wondering why he didn‟t want to press charges.

The whole idea made him sick; he didn‟t want to even see his

father again, let alone face off with him in court. Besides, it had
been his fault, the whole thing. He‟d been stupid to go to that club
he‟d found on the Internet, stupid to use a fake ID to get in there,
stupid to go with the cute guy who‟d picked him up, stupid to hang

ANGEL VOICES

around outside afterward when the fight had started. Stupid to get
caught on camera with the guy‟s arm around his waist and his nose
nuzzling in Will‟s neck.

But it had felt so good. He‟d felt like he was really being

himself for the first time in his life.

It felt good until his father had thrown the picture he‟d printed

out from some online news source in Will‟s face and started
screaming at him about being a faggot. Will had just stood there,
dumbfounded and wordless, until his father started hitting him.

He‟d just taken it because what else could he do? It was Will‟s

father.

Later, after he‟d thrown Will bodily out onto the icy sidewalk,

hurled his duffel bag after him, and told him never to darken his
door again? Well, he was still Will‟s father.

Will had put some snow on his nose to stop the bleeding, but it

had been really cold on his bare hands. He‟d wrapped the scarf his
mother had made him for last Christmas around his ears and face,
and pulled the duffel‟s strap over his head and pushed it  onto his
back so that he could shove his hands into his jeans pockets to try
and  keep  them  warm  while  he  walked  back  to  the  dorm.  To  the
only  place  he‟d  ever  felt  comfortable. To  the  only  place  that  had
ever felt like home. To the place that pretty soon wouldn‟t be home
any longer.

He wasn‟t sure what he was going to do then. He was eighteen,

so no child welfare agency was going to do anything for him, but
he had no degree, no experience, no skills in anything but drafting
and math. He had no money, no place to live, no references, not
even a cell phone—that had been another thing that his father had
determined wasn‟t necessary.

Quinn pushed the door to their room open and guided him

ANGEL VOICES

gently in. “There, we‟re home. You‟re good?”

Will nodded numbly. Quinn put the duffel on Will‟s bed and

opened it, unpacking for him. Over his shoulder, he said, “I‟ve got
to be here until after the performance Christmas Eve, but my
family‟s coming to that and taking me home. You‟ll come with us,
then come back with me in January…”

Will shook his head. “I won‟t be back in January. The

scholarship was through my parents‟ church, and as soon as my
father tells them I‟m gay, they‟ll cancel it. I don‟t have the money
to stay.”

Quinn said in a funny voice, “You‟re gay?”
Oh, fuck. Will sat down on his desk chair and stared at the

floor. So much for Quinn being nice to him. “I won‟t stay,” he said
dully. “Just let me sleep here tonight, and I‟ll leave in the morning.
If it really bugs you that much, I can crash on the couch in the
common room…”

“Fuck, baby!”
Will blinked and looked up at Quinn, who was standing staring

at him, one of Will‟s shirts in his hand.

“Is that what this is all about? Your old man found out you

were gay and beat the shit out of you?”

“There were pictures from some fight at Panjandrum,” Will

muttered. “I was there.”

Quinn dropped the shirt on the bed and slid onto his knees in

front of Will, taking his gauze-wrapped hands gently. They hadn‟t
been badly frostbitten—the hospital had coated them with some
ointment and wrapped them in gauze to protect them, but they
were still painful. “That‟s a hate crime, Will. He could do serious
time for…”

Will pulled his hands away. “No,” he said. “That‟s my dad.”

ANGEL VOICES

“Some fucking dad,” Quinn spat angrily. “Keeps you on a short

leash, then beats the shit out of you when you try and do something
fun? Because you happen to be something other than what he
wants? Jesus Christ, Will.”

Blinking, Will drew back a little from Quinn‟s rage. He‟d never

seen  Quinn  furious  like  this  before;  occasionally  he‟d  been
annoyed  at  someone,  but  then  he‟d  expressed  it  with  a  couple  of
“fucks!”  before  going  on  to  some  new  subject.  He‟d  never  seen
this  cold,  fierce  rage  before.  “I‟m  sorry,”  he  said  anxiously,
tucking his hands under his arms.

“Oh, baby, I‟m not mad at you.” Quinn stood up, went to his

own desk and pulled up something on his computer. “Okay, so we
need to regroup. The schedule holds through New Year‟s—you‟ll
come home with me after the performance Christmas Eve. The
admissions department is still open through the 23

, so we can

head  over  there  tomorrow  and  see  what  we  can  find  out  about
alternative  funding  for  you  so  you  can  finish  out  the  year  and
maybe get back in next year. You‟re in engineering—I bet you can
find  all  sorts  of  scholarships.  And  we‟ll  stop  at  the  campus
LGBTQ  center,  too—they  might  have  some  leads  on  grants  and
loans and stuff. We‟ll come back early, right after New Year‟s, and
start working on some other leads. Can you sing?”

“Like a frog,” Will admitted, dazed.
“Okay, no music scholarships, unless you play an instrument—

No? Too bad; I know of a couple of good ones… Okay. Any other
hobbies, interests, anything?”

Will shook his head. He couldn‟t talk; something was filling

his throat and pushing hard at the back of his nose. When he
opened his mouth, a sob came out, and he was crying again. “Why
are you being so nice to me?” he sobbed out.

ANGEL VOICES

“Jesus, Will!” Quinn was back on his knees, his hands on

Will‟s legs. “I‟m just being decent—I‟m not doing anything worth
crying about. Oh, crap.” He reached out and pulled Will gently to
him, holding him around his shoulders while Will wept on his.
“Shh, baby, it‟s okay,” Quinn crooned over and over again, softly,
like a mother calming her frightened child.

Will felt stupid, but it was the best thing he‟d ever experienced:

Quinn‟s long, strong arms around him, Quinn‟s shoulder solid and
steady beneath him, and Quinn‟s beautiful voice soft in his ear.
Quinn even smelled good, like laundry soap and peppermints. Will
hung on a few minutes after he‟d finished crying, just because he
didn‟t want to ever move.

And then he did, shifting back just a little, and Quinn shifted

too, so that they both were looking in each other‟s eyes. Then
Quinn murmured, “Shit,” so softly, and kissed him.

* * *

Will‟s lips were sweet, but Quinn was careful; they were still

swollen from the bastard‟s fist. He didn‟t want to hurt Will, ever.
But Will pressed forward into the kiss and made a low sound,
almost like growling, and Quinn went from careful to hungry in a
nanosecond.

Will raised his hand to cup Quinn‟s cheek, the gauze rasping

against Quinn‟s jaw, and tilted his face a little to fit better. When
his tongue brushed Quinn‟s bottom lip, Quinn opened and greeted
him gratefully. God, he‟d fantasized about this for so long,
practically since he‟d met Will, but had figured he was straight and
wouldn‟t be interested. This kiss had started almost accidentally;
he hadn‟t planned on kissing Will, not when the kid was so messed

ANGEL VOICES

up. But somehow, instinct led him right to this moment, and he
blessed his instinct.

Then Will froze, and Quinn‟s heart sank. He drew back a little,

brushing gently at Will‟s lip with his thumb. “Sorry,” he said. “Got
carried away. You okay?”

“You kissed me,” Will said in that lost voice that made Quinn

want to hit someone—mainly the beefy racist homophobe that had
moved Will into his dorm room last August.

“Yeah. Been wanting to do that for a while. Sorry. Now is

probably not a good time.”

“No. No, nothing to be sorry for. I just… I didn‟t expect it, is

all.”

“Don‟t tell me you didn‟t know I was gay, too?”
“I didn‟t.” Will flushed. “I guess I don‟t have the radar or

gaydar or whatever it is people call that. I never know when people
are gay or aren‟t. I just thought you were—sociable, or something.
Friendly. Outgoing.”

“Which I am,” Quinn said, trying on cheerful for size.

“Sociable, friendly, outgoing, and gay.” He eased back onto his
heels and smiled up at Will as he rested his hands on Will‟s knees.
“And a bit pushy, sometimes. Don‟t mind me.”

“No. I… I liked it.” Will tried for a smile, but winced when it

pulled at his healing split.

“Shh,” Quinn said, and squeezed Will‟s knees gently as he got

up. “Okay. I think you probably need to take a nap, and I need to
get you unpacked, and while you‟re sleeping I‟ll sneak down to
Commons and get us some lunch. I bet you didn‟t have dinner last
night before your old man went off on you.”

“No. It happened as soon as I walked in the door,” Will

admitted.

ANGEL VOICES

“Figures. Anyway, you missed breakfast at the hospital—and

I‟ll tell you, you didn‟t miss much—and so I bet you‟re hungry.”

“I can‟t believe I slept all night at the hospital and didn‟t even

wake up,” Will muttered.

“Oh, you woke up a couple of times,” Quinn told him, “but

they gave you some pain meds, so you were pretty out of it. I slept
in the chair so, frankly, I could use a nap, too, but I‟m more hungry
than  sleepy. So  you crash, I‟ll get  food, and then I‟ll crash too. I
don‟t have to be at rehearsals until four, so we got time.” He held
out a  hand  to Will,  who took it and  got  up. They  stood there like
that  a  moment,  then  Quinn  grinned  and  released  him.  “Lie  down
and sleep for a while, okay? I‟ll be back in a bit.”

“Thanks,” Will said.

* * *

Will was asleep when Quinn got back with sandwiches. On

Will‟s  nightstand,  he  spied  the  bottle  of  Vicodin  the  doctor  had
given  him.  Quinn  checked  the  quantity;  it  looked  like  he‟d  only
taken one, which was okay. He thought briefly of taking them and
putting  them  away  until  Will  asked  for  them;  he‟d  seen  kids  so
devastated by the whole discovery thing that a bottle of painkillers
looked  like  closure.  But  Will  was  still  dazed  by  the  whole
experience and probably wasn‟t thinking that far ahead yet.

He looked so small and fragile lying there, the little pillow the

hospital had sent home with him clutched against his sore ribs.
They‟d only been cracked, not broken, so the doctors taped him up
and told him to take it easy for a few days. They‟d been the worst
of his injuries. Nothing else was broken, though the one ER doctor
had shaken his head and said that the cheek should have been

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stitched and  would probably  leave a scar, but  since it  had already
stopped bleeding there wasn‟t much point in doing anything except
putting  on  a  butterfly  bandage  in  case  it  opened  up  again.  Poor
Will—he‟d  have  to  remember  his  father‟s  brutality  every  time  he
looked  in  a  mirror.  Quinn  bent  and  kissed  him  lightly  on  the
bandage.

Will stirred and looked up at him. “Back already?” he

mumbled, and Quinn sat down on the side of the bed.

“Got sammiches and everything,” he said. “Your choice of

turkey, roast beef, or Spam.” At Will‟s wrinkled nose, he laughed.
“Okay, I lied about the Spam. Turkey, roast beef, or chicken
salad.”

“Walnuts in the chicken salad?”
“No, just a little celery, I think.”
“Then I think the chicken salad. It‟ll probably be easier. My

face hurts.”

“Yeah, it‟s killin‟ me,” Quinn joked.
Will gave him his shy smile. “Thanks. You need to keep a list

of what I owe you, so I can pay you back when I get a job or
something.”

Quinn shook his head. “Worry about that later. When we‟ve

graduated and you‟re making tons of money as an engineer, you
can support me while I‟m trying to make a living as a singer.”

* * *

I would, Will thought, then blinked. Where had that come

from? He wasn‟t in any position to make any promises whatsoever.
No matter Quinn‟s optimism, the facts weren‟t very reassuring. He
was homeless, broke, and about to lose his future. Even if he

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managed to find a job slinging burgers or cleaning toilets or
something, and found a place where he could afford to live, tuition
would still be beyond him. And even if he could afford to go part-
time—and what kind of wild-eyed pipe dream was that—it would
take him years to get a degree.

He looked up at Quinn‟s kind, happy face and felt a little sick.

Who was he kidding? He‟d never be able to pay him back for the
sandwich, let alone anything else. “Right,” he said bitterly, and bit
into the sandwich, tasting sawdust.

Quinn took it away. “Hey,” he said softly. “What‟s going on in

your head?”

He shook it. “Nothing. I‟m just…still tired, I guess. Groggy.”

He attempted a smile. “I‟ll be okay in a minute or two.”

“Okay.” Quinn gave him the sandwich back, then took out his

own and sat down on the edge of his own bed. “First one done‟s
got dibs on the roast beef,” he said lightly.

“Thanks,” Will said again.
“Okay,” Quinn said again after they‟d eaten a few bites. “It‟s

Saturday and we can‟t really do anything about your little problem
today,  so  what  did  you  want  to  do  instead?  I‟ve  got  rehearsal  at
four, until probably at least six; Bennigan‟s going loony with this
one  and  isn‟t  satisfied  with  anything.  It‟s  part  of  his  Conducting
final. I‟m thinking if you took it easy today, we could go out to eat
after  rehearsal  and  then  maybe  go  out  to  a  movie  or  something?
Lots  of  good  Christmas  releases—the  new  Sherlock  Holmes,  that
suspense thing with Helen Mirren—God, I love Helen Mirren…”

“You don‟t have to babysit me,” Will said bluntly. “I‟m not

your responsibility. I‟m just your roommate—your ex-roommate.
In a couple of days I‟ll be out of your hair and you won‟t ever see
me again.”

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“Of course I‟ll see you again.” Quinn‟s voice was quiet, almost

expressionless. “You‟re going to pay me back for the sandwich,
remember?”

“I‟ll mail you a check.” Will set the sandwich down carefully

on  the  foil.  “Really,  Quinn,  I  don‟t  get  it.  I  don‟t  get  why  you
stayed  at  the  hospital  with  me  last  night,  why  you  even  took  me
there to begin with instead of just calling the cops and letting them
handle  it.  Why  you‟re  being  so  nice  to  me.  We‟re  practically
strangers.  Why  would  you  waste  your  energy?”  He  tried  to  keep
his  tone  calm  and  merely  inquisitive,  as  if  talking  in  the  abstract,
but by the end he could hear it quivering. He hated that. He hated
not  being  able  to  keep  control.  He‟d  always  been  able  to  keep
control—what was wrong with him?

“Well,” Quinn said levelly, “I apparently don‟t come from a

fucked-up family that beats the shit out of a kid and then throws
him in the street without so much as a „Merry Christmas.‟ In my
family, people give a shit. In my family people help other people,
particularly when it‟s someone who matters.”

“I don’t fucking matter. Don‟t you get that? I‟ve got nothing.

Nothing worth anything.”

“Oh, sweet baby Jesus.” Quinn put his sandwich down, too,

and  set  it  on  the  bed  beside  him.  “Of  course  you  don‟t  have
anything,  you  moron.  You‟re  fucking  eighteen.  I  don‟t  have
anything  either.  Just  a  lot  of  potential.  You,  too.  You‟re  nothing
but fucking potential.” He reached over and squeezed Will‟s knee.

“What kind of fucking family do you come from?” Will put his

hand over Quinn‟s. It felt so good on his knee, so good beneath his
palm: strong, lean, firm and yet intrinsically fragile, as if all the
strength and firmness came from Quinn‟s own will.

Quinn laughed. “Loud. Raucous. We put the „fun‟ in

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„dysfunctional.‟ Seriously, there are six kids in my family, nine in
one set of cousins, eight in another, five in still another. My dad‟s
Scottish,  my  mother‟s  a  true  Creole,  some  African  American  but
with  a  smattering  of  Irish  and  Cuban  and  French,  and  my
grandmama‟s an old bruja who rules us all. She lives in N‟Awlins,
where the family‟s roots are. We‟re Scots and black and Irish and
French  and  Spick  and  nuckin‟  futs.  When  we  ain‟t  singin‟  we‟re
rasslin‟.”

His voice had taken on a strange cadence, sort of Southern, sort

of French, and all musical. Will could listen to it for hours. He‟d
never heard Quinn sound like that before; the whole time they‟d
been roommates Quinn had sounded just like everyone else.

“We love each other like crazy, even when we drive each other

just as crazy. Grandmama calls everyone in the family „bebe‟ and
Maman does too.” He flushed a little. “It‟s just for family, though.”

“You called me „baby,‟” Will pointed out. “But that doesn‟t

mean the same thing, does it?‟

“Of course it does, baby,” Quinn said. “You‟re family, now.”
“That‟s bullshit. You don‟t know me from Adam. If I hadn‟t

been your roommate you would have left me sitting in that
church…”

“That,” Quinn snapped, “is where you‟re wrong. I would have

done exactly the same thing—okay, maybe I would have ignored
what you said and called the fucking police like you should have
done.”

“Why should I? It wouldn‟t make any difference! They aren‟t

gonna arrest my dad for walloping me. He‟s got every right—”

“Bullshit!” Quinn yelled. He shot to his feet, his hands fisted.

“Nobody has the right to beat the shit out of someone, no matter
who they are. Okay, maybe they couldn‟t get him on child abuse,

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but they sure as shit could tag him for assault and battery! Bet that
would look good to his fucking church!”

His eyes were glittering, his face was flushed and his fury was

a beautiful thing. Will got up, caught Quinn‟s face in his hands,
and kissed him, hard. It hurt his mouth but he didn‟t care; he just
wanted, needed, to kiss this amazing man.

Quinn started, struggled a little, put his hands on Will‟s chest—

but  then  the  hands  softened  and  slid  up  over  his  shoulders,  and
Quinn‟s  slim,  strong  body  swayed  up  against  Will‟s  gangly  one.
Will  shifted  his  grasp  to  Quinn‟s  waist,  wrapping  tightly  around
him  to  hold  him,  just  there,  tight  against  Will.  Their  tongues
touched, dueled, twisting and tasting and teasing, hot and wet and
hungry. Will heard moaning and realized it was him.

He dragged his mouth from Quinn‟s and bent to taste his throat,

nudging the collar of his sweater aside to lick the curve where neck
met shoulder. The skin tasted sweet there, of the fruit-scented body
wash he used; Will could always tell when Quinn had just taken a
shower, because the floor bathroom smelled like strawberries or
melon or papaya. The other guys on this floor always griped about
the bathroom smelling like a girl‟s. Will had never minded, but he
realized that he should have suspected Quinn‟s gayness just from
that. He chuckled then, his earlier anger fizzling out in the taste of
Quinn.

“Oh, God,” Quinn was moaning. His arms tightened around

Will‟s neck and he rocked his hips up against Will‟s.

Will went still. He‟d sprung a woody, and if he wasn‟t

mistaken—Quinn had, too. Oh. Fuck.

He let go of Quinn then, and stepped back just a little. Quinn‟s

arms were still around his neck. “Second thoughts?” Quinn asked,
smiling, but the light had gone out of his eyes.

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“I… uh… I…” Will set his hands gently on Quinn‟s hips and

looked down at them. “I‟m sorry, I just don‟t know—I‟ve never
done anything like this before. This guy—the fight at the club…”

“Oh, fuck, Will. Don‟t tell me you just made your first pickup

when the fight broke out?”

Will nodded. “I didn‟t want to after that. Just left, went back

home. Here. You were out.”

“What were you planning?”
“I don‟t know.” Will shrugged. “Just—he said he had an

apartment, and he was cute, and smaller than me, so I figured I‟d
be  okay,  you  know,  ‟cause  I  could  take  him  if  I  had  to,  and  if  I
changed  my  mind  I  wouldn‟t  have  to  worry,  so  I  figured  I  was
safe.  The  club  was  kind  of  scary  and  I‟d  never  used  a  fake  ID
before—I  got  it  from  one  of  the  kids  on  the  third  floor—but
nobody caught me. The club scared me,  there were so many guys
there,  and  it  was  crowded  and  noisy  and  dark,  and  when  Denny
came up to me I was just relieved and wanted to get out of there. I
acted  like  I  knew  what  I  was  doing  and  he  seemed  to  believe  it.
But  I‟d  never  done  anything,”  and  the  word  was  a  cry  from  the
heart.  “I‟d  never  done  anything  but  jerk  off,  you  know,  never
kissed anyone, never got a blow job in the school bathroom, never
anything.” Quinn‟s hands had pulled his head down onto Quinn‟s
shoulder and were stroking his hair. “Not anything, ever, and I just
wanted to know what it was like.”

“Of course you did,” Quinn said in his ear. His breath tickled,

and Will shivered.

“I went to private school,” Will said.
It was a non sequitur, but Quinn seemed to understand.

“Church school? Well, that figures. Though I‟m surprised you
didn‟t find someone else in the closet there; it seems like half the

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messed up kids I‟ve known have been from church schools. You
know, when Jesus said „suffer the little children‟ he didn‟t mean it
literally.”

Will snorted a laugh, surprised at himself.
Quinn leaned back and grinned at him. “That‟s better. Look,

you‟ve had a rough couple of days, and I bet you‟re still hurting.
Why don‟t you just lie down and take another nap and then come
to rehearsals with me. Then we‟ll go out to dinner and maybe a
movie, and it‟s a date, so don‟t make any noises about paying me
back, ‟kay?”

“A date?” Will blinked. “You want to go out with me?”
Quinn rolled his eyes. “Well, duh. You don‟t think I get a

chubby from giving random guys hugs?”

Will heard a buzzing noise and Quinn rolled his eyes again.

“Hang on right there,” he said, and pulled his cell phone out of his
back  pocket.  “Hello,  maman.  Oui?  No,  just  chillin‟.”  He
pronounced  it  “shillin‟.”  “Wit‟  m‟ami  Will.  M‟roommate,
remember?  Oui,  dat  one.  Oui.  No  foolin‟?  Tomorrow?  Por  quoi?
Mas excellent, Maman! You call den, okay?”

Listening to Quinn‟s sweet, peculiarly singsong tones, Will

leaned  back  on  his  pillow  and  relaxed.  His  hands  and  face  were
starting to hurt again, and his chest ached, but he felt better than he
had in the last twenty-four hours. He was safe for a while, and he
and  Quinn  had  a  date.  He‟d  kissed  a  boy  and  lightning  hadn‟t
struck  him  dead,  which  he‟d  been  afraid  of,  ever  since  his  father
had  waved  that  picture  in  front  of  his  face.  Hell,  he  hadn‟t  even
done  anything  with  Denny,  not  even  kissed  him,  and  he‟d  gotten
punished  for  that.  He‟d  kissed  Quinn—twice—and  nothing  had
happened.

Except he‟d gotten a woody, so had Quinn, and now he had a

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date. And maybe after the date, when they came home, there would
be more, and he would finally, finally, find out what all the fuss
was about. With Quinn.

He fell asleep still smiling.

* * *

“Sure, Maman. Exactamente. Mais oui. No, pas probleme—in

fact, I‟m looking forward to seeing y‟all. I‟m goin‟ out with Will
ce soir—yes, a date, is that so hard to believe? But we be home
early ‟nuff. You call in the mornin‟, oui? Okay. Bye-bye, Maman.
Love you.”

Quinn clicked the phone off and sat back down on the edge of

his  bed,  beside  his  abandoned  sandwich.  He  picked  it  up  and
absently began to eat again. His dad had gotten a couple extra days
off, and now it seemed his family was about to descend upon them.
At least it wasn‟t the  whole family; just Dad and Maman and the
two girls and Grandmama. And they would be staying at a motel in
town, not at the dorm, of course. But he had been hoping for a few
days to learn some more about Will, to figure out what he could do
for  him  and  how  exactly  the  attraction  he‟d  felt  for  him—which
seemed, at least at the present, to be reciprocated—would play out.

It blew Quinn‟s mind that anyone could treat another human

being  the  way  Will‟s  father  had  done,  let  alone  hurt  someone  as
shy  and  sweet  as  Will.  Other  kids,  sure;  he‟d  run  into  plenty  of
douchebags in high school, but those were kids his own age, and it
was  just  the  usual  verbal  harassment  and  bullying  practically
everyone  got  at  in  high  school.  In  Quinn‟s  opinion,  high  school
was only boot camp for college; you just needed to survive it and
then things got better. But it didn‟t look like it got better for Will.

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Quinn had chalked Will‟s reticence up to being away from

home  for  the  first  time,  and  figured  it  would  take  him  awhile  to
loosen up. He didn‟t have that problem; he‟d been  going away to
visit  relatives  and  take  part  in  music  camps  since  he  was  old
enough to enunciate the words of whatever song he was singing at
the  moment.  He  had  a  strong,  warm  family  behind  him,  so  he
never felt like he was alone.

He realized in that moment that it wasn‟t so much that Will was

shy,  but  that  he  was  alone,  and  didn‟t  know  how  to  change  that.
Quinn  had  fucked  up.  He  should  have  seen  that  from  the
beginning, done more to get Will out of his shell, so that when this
shit happened—which, given the buttwipe Will called “Dad,” was
inevitable—Will  would  have  known  that  he  could  call  Quinn,
Quinn would have found a ride for him and gotten him away from
that  place,  and  he  wouldn‟t  have  had  to  walk  nearly  ten  miles  in
almost zero temperatures.

Quinn‟s own Southern blood ran cold at the idea of such a

walk,  in  only  a  jeans  jacket  and  scarf  and  no  gloves.  Thank  God
he‟d been smart enough to wrap the scarf around his head and face,
and  had  on  heavy  socks  and  sneakers  instead  of  the  open
Birkenstocks  some  of  the  kids  wore  around  the  dorm.  He‟d  have
lost toes for sure.

But he had gotten—what was it that the ER doctor had called

it? Frostnip?—on his fingers, though not bad enough for anything
except  some  ointment  and  loose  dressing  and  a  warning  to  keep
them warm. The cracked ribs were worst, and the bruises and split
lip and cut on his cheekbone, and the doctor had said he probably
had  a  concussion  from  hitting  the  sidewalk  when  his  dad  threw
him out, which is why they ended up keeping him overnight in the
ER. More frightening, Will didn‟t seem to remember being at  the

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ER all night, although he‟d been awake and talking some of the
time. That bugged Quinn; he didn‟t know much about medicine,
but he knew that not remembering stuff was so not good.

He opened his phone again and dialed Paul Bennigan. “Hey,

Ben? Quinn. Look, can we catch a ride with you to the church
tonight? I want to bring Will along—I don‟t want to leave him
alone for any length of time, and I don‟t think he‟s up to walking.”

Bennigan said, “He doin‟ okay otherwise?”
“Yeah, think so. He ate some lunch,” though not enough, “and

now he‟s taking a nap. I just don‟t want to leave him alone.”

“Make any progress on getting him to go to the cops?”
“No. It was his old man, just like you thought. Seems my baby

boy  roommate‟s  gay,  and  the  old  man  found  out.”  Bennigan  was
cool; he wouldn‟t harass Will. He said he had to be tolerant if he
was going to be  working in any arts  field, let alone  music. Quinn
had told him it was a good policy; the only career path more full of
queers  was  high  fashion,  and  those  guys  could  probably  kick  his
ass without breaking a sweat.

“Well, if he can tolerate your singing for a couple of hours, no

problem. I‟ll pick you up about quarter to, okay?”

“Got it. Thanks.”

* * *

Will sat in the corner of the church, in the same pew he‟d been

in  nearly  twenty-four  hours  ago,  still  bruised,  still  battered,  but
plenty  warm  enough  in  his  parka  and  hat  and  scarf  and  gloves.
Quinn had woken him from his nap and before Will had a chance
to  even  think,  had  bundled  him  into  his  deep  frost  gear—which
he‟d left in his closet during his abortive trip home, since Jim had

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given him a ride home, and he had a full set of cold weather stuff
still at his parents‟ house. Then he‟d introduced Will around to the
other choir members, who greeted him cheerfully and with interest
before all trooping up into the choir loft for their practice.

Now he sat and listened to them sing. And stop. And start

again. And stop. He wondered if this was normal; if a week before
every performance they were still working out whatever it was
they were working out up there. He‟d assumed that choir practice
for a looming event would be running through the program, but it
seemed like they were still dealing with problems.

When they sang, though—God, it was magic. The sound

echoed through the empty church, bouncing back in beautiful
harmonics that made his hair stand on end. He didn‟t know if he‟d
still be around on Christmas Eve, if by then the school would have
found out that his scholarship was canceled and made sure they‟d
kicked him out, or if Quinn would have gotten sick of him, but
even if any of those things did happen, he was going to try and be
here, to hear the whole thing in full. Just from the few songs he‟d
heard, it was going to be amazing.

They worked straight through, instead of taking a break as they

had  the  night  before,  and  did  manage  to  cover  a  lot  of  songs,
though  not  in  full.  It  seemed  that  their  conductor  was  just  going
over problem  spots, then  moving on to the  next. There  were a lot
of songs, not all of them Christmas ones, which surprised Will. At
his  church‟s  Christmas  Eve  service,  there  were  always  a  lot  of
Christmas  carols,  though  only  the  religious  ones.  This  choir  was
doing some of those, and some secular songs, but they were doing
some  non-Christmas  hymns,  too.  Some  of  them  Will  recognized,
like “Lord of the Dance,” an old Shaker hymn, but some he didn‟t.

And then the last song—Will recognized Quinn‟s voice now,

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pure and clear and sweet—was a song he knew well, from an old
Eva Cassidy album his mother had. Enya had done a version too,
but his mother said that it was far older than any of them, and had
been a protest song back when she was a girl. Will closed his eyes
as Quinn‟s voice poured over him in sweet benediction.

My life goes on in endless song
Above earth’s lamentation
I hear the sweet, though far-off, hymn
That hails a new creation
Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear its music ringing
It sounds an echo in my soul
How can I keep from singing?

Then a girl‟s voice picked up the next verse, and then the third

verse  they  sang  together.  It  was  about  tyrants  and  prisoners  and
rejoicing,  and  it  hurt,  God  it  hurt,  because  it  reminded  him  of  his
mother, and how she had stood there in the kitchen doorway, stood
there  with  her  fingers  on  her  lips  and  her  other  hand  cupping  her
elbow  at  her  waist,  silent,  watchful,  while  his  father  hit  him  over
and  over  again.  How  she‟d  stood  like  that  so  many  other  times,
listening  to  his  father  yell  at  Will  or  at  his  brother  Keith  over
something  stupid,  something  unimportant,  making  them  feel
worthless.  He‟d  never  hit  them  before,  but  that  was  still  abuse,
wasn‟t it? His psych professors said so. And she‟d let it go on, and
always  defended  him  when  either  of  the  boys  went  to  her
afterward. It was always “He‟s just tired, honey,” or “He had a bad
day,” or “He‟s just trying to do what‟s right.”

It wasn‟t right. And in the last couple of years, his older brother

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had  started  to  act  like  his  father,  too,  being  condescending  and
impatient. He didn‟t need to go to any stupid school; he had a good
job as an apprentice pipe fitter, working with their father. Will was
too stupid and clumsy to do anything with his hands; he needed to
go  be  trained  for  a  desk  job  to  keep  him  out  of  trouble.  Will‟s
throat  was  tight.  He  and  Keith  had  always  been  close  when  they
were little, but not any more. Had Keith figured out Will was gay,
and that was why he‟d gotten so mean? Or had he just listened to
the  bile  their  father  spouted  for  too  long?  It  all  made  Will‟s  head
hurt, and he leaned back against the pew, trying not to think, trying
to just let the music flow over him and not hear the words.

When he heard the thunder of feet on the stairs, he hurriedly

wiped his face with his mittens and got up to meet Quinn.

* * *

“Sorry,” Quinn said apologetically. “I tried to tell them they

weren‟t wanted, but they didn‟t listen.”

“It‟s okay,” Will said. He looked around the big booth at the

six of them, all crammed in cheek by jowl, sharing pizza. “It‟s
probably cheaper this way, getting pitchers of Coke and all, I
mean.”

Quinn‟s hand on Will‟s knee squeezed briefly. “Yeah,” he said,

“but I kind of wanted to spend a little time alone with you.”

Will looked at him sideways from under his lashes. “We can

talk when we get home.” He watched in fascination as a slow blush
crept  over  Quinn‟s  sweet-coffee  cheeks.  God,  he  wanted  to  kiss
him  right  now,  in  front  of  God  and  everyone,  but  these  were
Quinn‟s  friends,  and  he  didn‟t  want  to  embarrass  Quinn.  He  just
had to be patient. But it was hard—in more ways than one.

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When they had finished, and all spilled out into the cold dark of

the winter night to go their separate ways, Quinn and Will had
gotten about half a block before Will couldn‟t stand it any more.
He turned, grasped Quinn‟s parka in his mittened fists, and pushed
him gently back against a brick wall. Quinn‟s eyes went round and
Will heard his breath speed up. “Sorry,” Will said penitently, “but I
can‟t wait ‟til we get home.” He kissed him, pushing into him, his
tongue pressing at Quinn‟s lips. He didn‟t know where this sudden
aggressiveness came from, this sudden hunger, but it felt so good,
so right.

Quinn made a soft mewling sound deep in his throat, and his

hands in their thick ski gloves came up to settle over Will‟s ears,
holding him in place. When Will drew back to catch his breath,
Quinn whispered, “Glory Jesus, that was hot.” He grabbed Will‟s
hand and dragged him down the street.

Will laughed and followed.

* * *

Upstairs in their dorm room, though, he felt oddly awkward.

He pulled his jacket off and hung it on the back of his desk chair,
and  stuffed  the  mittens  and  hat  and  scarf  onto  the  chair.  Then  he
turned around to look at Quinn, who‟d done pretty much the same
thing,  and  was  now  leaning  on  the  back  of  the  chair  looking  at
Will.  “So…come  here  often?”  Quinn  purred,  and  Will  burst  out
laughing.

He supposed part of it was nerves, because there was definitely

a nervous tinge to the laughter, but Quinn only grinned at him and
crossed the few feet between them to put his hands on Will‟s
sweater front. “It‟s okay, baby,” he said, and Will finally heard the

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“bebe” in the word. “I won‟t let you fall.”

“You‟re an oldest child, aren‟t you?” Will asked.
Quinn blinked. “Yeah, but what does that have to do with the

price of beans?”

“Nothing. You‟re just kind of…”
“Bossy?”
“No, not bossy. Just kind of…”
“Bossy.”
Will grinned. “Yes, but in a very good way.”
“Then that‟s okay,” Quinn said, and kissed him.
Will groaned and put his arms around Quinn, his hands on

Quinn‟s round tush. God, he was touching Quinn!

And then he felt hands on his bare back, underneath the

sweater,  and  that  felt  even  better;  the  hands  were  cool,  but  not
cold,  and  they  slid  over  his  skin  like  water,  soft  and  sweet  and
touching  everywhere,  everywhere.  He  pulled  Quinn‟s  shirt  from
his  jeans  and  echoed  Quinn‟s  touch,  tentatively  stroking  Quinn‟s
back.  Quinn  reached  between  them  and  fumbled  open  his  jeans.
“Touch me,” Quinn murmured against his mouth, and Will eased
his  trembling  fingertips  beneath  the  loosened  jeans  so  he  was
holding  Quinn  the  way  he  was  before,  but  with  nothing  between
his hands and the firm, smooth skin.

He groaned and pulled Quinn closer. “God. Quinn.”
“Shh,” Quinn said in his ear as he nudged his nose into Will‟s

neck. “We got time, bebe. We got all the time in the world.”

* * *

Quinn might have been bossy, but Will got plenty of chances to

be bossy, too; they pushed and pulled and kissed and nibbled and

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pushed and pulled some more, until they were down to their shorts
and lying on Quinn‟s bed, wrapped around each other and panting.
Quinn had his hand down Will‟s underwear, his fist wrapped
around Will‟s dick, and Will was whimpering into Quinn‟s neck,
his hands fisted in Quinn‟s hair.

“God, baby,” Quinn murmured, “you feel so good, so hot.”
The feeling of Quinn‟s hand on Will was indescribable. Warm

and smooth, except for the calluses on his fingertips that when they
rubbed  on  the  tender  skin  of  Will‟s  cock,  made  Will  shiver  in
delight—Quinn‟s  hand  was  strong  and  gentle  at  the  same  time.  It
was  like  a  weapon  of  mass  instruction  in  the  ways  of  sex.  Will
giggled  to himself even as  he arched into Quinn‟s touch.  “That‟s
amazing,” he breathed.

“Just wait ‟til I get my mouth on you,” Quinn said against his

lips.

This time it wasn‟t a mere shiver—this time Will actually

shuddered,  his  whole  body  quivering  in  anticipation  and
excitement.  “Oh,  God,”  he  whispered.  Then  Quinn  shifted  his
weight  and  moved  down  Will‟s  body,  his  mouth  and  tongue
searching out all the most sensitive places on his chest, his belly—
and then Will‟s shorts vanished with a quick tug. Quinn was lying
between Will‟s thighs, his nose buried in the hair at Will‟s groin.
“Oh,  God,”  Will  said  again.  It  was  nearly  a  prayer.  He  slid  his
fingers  into  Quinn‟s  soft  curls,  not  pushing,  just  holding  him,
making contact with him.

Quinn made a small, approving sound into Will‟s crotch, then

his tongue came out and started licking at Will‟s balls. Will made a
little shrieking sound that sounded to his ears entirely too girly.
Quinn chuckled, and the vibration against Will‟s balls almost made
Will squeal again.

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Then Quinn raised his head, grinned at Will, and said “Wanna

see a trick?”

Will blinked in disbelief. “What?”
Quinn lifted his hand. Between his fingers he held a small,

square packet…oh. Right. “Um,” Will said nervously.

“It‟s okay,” Quinn said. He tore the packet open with his teeth,

but then, to Will‟s astonishment, put the condom in his mouth.

“What…?” Will began, but Quinn bent his head and took the

tip of Will‟s cock in his mouth and slid slowly down, pushing the
condom down with it. “Oh,” Will said. “Oh!”

Quinn looked up again and gave the condom-covered cock a

long slow lick. “Flavored,” he said, grinning. “Banana.”

Will stared at him a moment, nonplused. Then what Quinn had

said sank in and he started to giggle. Giggles turned into guffaws,
and he lay back, laughing harder than he had in… Well, forever.

As if the laughter loosened something in him, though, he found

himself weeping even as he laughed. Quinn said softly, “No crying
in baseball, Will I Am.”

“You‟re crazy,” Will managed.
“No question,” Quinn said, and closed his mouth around Will‟s

cock. Will stopped laughing, stopped crying—just sucked in a
huge breath and shuddered in arousal. “Oh my God.”

He went on saying “oh my God,” over and over again, as

Quinn  licked  and  sucked  and  hummed,  setting  Will  vibrating
himself.  His  hands  went  down  to  cup  Quinn‟s  head  again,  his
fingers  tangling  in  the  curls,  trying  to  just  rest  there.  He  wasn‟t
sure about the proper etiquette of a blow job, but he suspected that
clutching  Quinn‟s  head  and  fucking  his  mouth  like  he  wanted  to
was probably not polite.

Too soon he felt the tightness in his head and balls that meant

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he was going to go off. He didn‟t want to—he wanted to stay like
this forever, with Quinn‟s mouth making love to him. But he really
wanted to come, too. He wanted to come, and then take his turn
sucking Quinn, tasting the other boy‟s balls and cock, learning how
to do what Quinn was doing so beautifully. He pushed awkwardly
at Quinn‟s head. “Let go,” he moaned. “Gonna shoot. Let go.”

Quinn laughed. “What, and miss the best part? Come on, bebe.

Shoot if you‟re gonna.”

It was that “bebe” that did it; before Quinn had even finished

speaking, Will was crying out and filling the condom in Quinn‟s
mouth. It was better than jerking off, better than anything, hot and
fierce and hard. He could feel his eyes rolling back in his head, and
his ribs ached from the tension, and God, that was so good…!

He flopped back onto his pillow, listening to Quinn chuckling

maniacally,  and  then  Quinn  was  pulling  off  the  condom  and
crawling  between  his  legs,  and  damn  if  he  wasn‟t  getting  hard
again. He groaned as Quinn braced his arms on either  side of him
and  started  rubbing  his  naked  groin  against  Will‟s  come-sticky
cock.

Quinn bent down and took his mouth again, licking and

sucking  and  stroking  his  tongue  in  Will‟s  hungry  mouth.  Will‟s
ribs hurt more as he rocked up against Quinn, but Will was beyond
caring;  his  hands  were  fisted  in  the  sheets  and  he  sucked  on
Quinn‟s tongue like it was a Popsicle—a tonguesicle, he thought,
and  laughed  in  his  throat,  even  as  the  friction  built  between  them
until he was ready to spurt again.

Quinn was rocking and groaning harder and faster, and he

released  Will‟s  mouth  to  throw  his  head  back  and  shout
wordlessly.  Will  looked  up  at  the  long,  smooth  column  of  his
throat,  the  beautiful  arch  of  his  chest  and  shoulders  gleaming  and

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slick with sweat, and cried out “Quinn!” as he came again, even
harder than the first time.

“Oh, God,” Quinn said, and collapsed on the bed beside Will,

careful  even  in  his  post-orgasmic  exhaustion  to  land  somewhere
other  than  Will‟s  battered  chest.  Will  wished  he‟d  been  able  to
collapse  on  top  of  him;  he  thought  having  Quinn‟s  body  on  his
might  just  feel  wonderful.  But  he  appreciated  Will  being  careful.
Especially  since  he  was  hurting  a  little,  particularly  his  lip.  He
looked up to see Quinn staring at him. “What?”

“You‟re grinning like a fool. I‟ve never seen you smile like

that.”

“Really?” He guessed he was. It was probably why his mouth

hurt.

Quinn said, “I don‟t know about you, but that felt

fanfuckingtastic to me.”

“Me, too. I don‟t, I can‟t think of anything that ever felt so

good. It was way better than jerking off.”

“Oh, bebe. There are so many things better than jerking off.”

Quinn rolled to his side and propped his head up on his hand. “And
a lot of things I haven‟t even tried yet.”

“You‟ve had a lot of boyfriends, I suppose.”
“Hey, where dat grin go?” Quinn asked softly, reaching out to

touch Will‟s cheek. “I ain‟t had a lot of boyfrien‟s, no.”

“You‟re talking N‟Awlins,” Will said. Quinn stared at him a

moment, then grinned.

“Shit. I guess I must like you. I don‟t talk like that with just

anyone, you know.”

“I liked it,” Will confessed.
“I only talk that way when I‟m real tired, or real relaxed.”
“Which is this?”

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“A little of both, I think. And really, I haven‟t had a lot of

boyfriends. A couple, but then I‟ve been out and proud since
middle school. Guy who looks as good as I do is always gonna
have a boyfriend.”

“What have you done?” Feeling suddenly shy, Will looked

away from Quinn‟s dark, amused eyes. “I mean, this kind of
thing—”

“Oh, bebe, it‟s good. This kind of thing. A few blow jobs, both

ways, always with a condom, because my mama didn‟t raise no
idiots.”

“Oh. See, I don‟t even know anything about that.” Will blew

out a breath. “Have you ever…you know. Fucked?”

* * *

God, Will was cute. Pink had bloomed on his cheeks, offsetting

the purple and yellow of his healing bruises. He looked like a
nervous little rainbow all on his own. “Anal penetration?” Quinn
said, just to see if Will got any pinker.

He was damn near scarlet now. Quinn laughed and kissed him.

“No,” he said, “because my mama didn‟t raise no idiots. I do want
to, eventually, to see what it‟s like, but I‟m having too good a time
to commit to someone, and I think that fucking is really something
you should do with someone you love. Frot and blow jobs? That‟s
just having fun.” He cocked his head and regarded Will
thoughtfully. “Are you gonna be the kind of guy who thinks that if
he doesn‟t get or give it up the ass he‟s not really gay?”

Will blinked. “There are people like that?”
“Mostly politicians,” Quinn said. “And fundamentalist

preachers. Bebe, you wouldn‟t believe how many people think

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that. Sort of like Clinton and the whole blow-jobs-aren‟t-sex thing.
Somebody comes, it‟s sex. Two people come—it‟s good sex.”

“It was good,” Will acknowledged. He yawned. “Sorry. I don‟t

know why I‟m tired; I had two naps today.”

“It‟s been a long day,” Quinn said. He eased down beside Will.

“Just close your eyes and sleep a while. I‟ll be here.”

Will‟s eyes drifted shut. Quinn lay watching him sleep, the

dark lashes hiding those clear green eyes, the lines he‟d never
noticed before smoothing out now in sleep. He felt guilty for never
noticing those lines between Will‟s eyes; he‟d always just figured
it was a quirk of Will‟s expression, but now he realized that they
were from the constant, low-level stress that Will was always
under. Poor bebe. Quinn knew sex was great for relieving tension;
he hoped that it had helped Will, too.

But it wasn‟t just sex, was it? Not with Will. Oh, he wasn‟t “in

love” with him, whatever that meant. But ever since he‟d met Will,
he‟d had this curiosity running in the background of his mind, like
white  noise—what  would  it  be  like  with  him?  What  made  him
tick? Could he possibly be gay, or at least bi? He‟d figured not, not
after  rooming  with  him  for  nearly  four  months  and  never  even
catching Will  sneaking a  glance at him coming or going  from the
showers or changing clothes. Boy, was he wrong.

Quinn supposed that it was probably Will‟s nature to be

reserved, but his father‟s influence that made him so incredibly shy
and uncertain. Coming from a boisterous family like his own, and
being the oldest to boot, the idea of treating someone so badly that
he retreated into a shell like Will‟s just blew Quinn‟s mind. It
made him angry, furiously angry.

And then Will shifted and murmured something, and Quinn let

all the tension go out of him, and curled his arm under Will‟s neck,

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drawing  the sleeping boy‟s  head down on  his shoulder. Will  was
the one who needed to be angry, and right now he was just hurting.
It was up to Quinn to keep him safe for now, until Will was ready
to  deal  with  his  father‟s  betrayal.  Tomorrow,  they‟d  spend  some
time  with  Quinn‟s  folks,  and  show  Will  what  a  real  family  was
like;  then  Monday  they‟d  start  checking  into  scholarships  and
grants  and  loans,  to  see  what  they  could  do  about  getting  Will
funding for the next semester and next year. The semester wasn‟t
officially  over  until  the  30

, so Will‟s cafeteria card and student

insurance would still be good…

Quinn fell asleep mulling possibilities.

* * *

The motel was one of the chain ones that circled the campus

and catered to visiting family members. Quinn‟s family was on the
third floor on the courtyard side, with a view of the outdoor pool,
empty and sad in the winter afternoon light.

When Will and Quinn entered the room, Will was taken aback

by the seeming horde of people in there, all talking at once. After a
minute  though,  it  resolved  itself  down  to  just  a  tall  man  with
bristling grey-blond eyebrows, a slender black woman talking and
waving her hands around, another tall black woman, this one older
and  dignified,  and  two  girls  of  about  twelve  or  thirteen,  both  tall
and  gangly.  The  girls  were  talking  and  waving  their  hands,  too.
Quinn looked small and compact compared to them, more like his
mother,  to  whom  he  made  a  beeline,  opening  his  arms  and
gathering her in.

The tall bristling man, who reminded Will of an Airedale, came

over, his big hand outstretched and a grin splitting his face. “Well,

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then, you‟d be Will, now, wouldn‟t ye?” His voice had a deep,
rumbling burr that fit his looks completely.

“Yes, sir,” Will said nervously, and shook his hand. Quinn had

said his family was perfectly fine with his orientation, but he still
couldn‟t wrap his head around it, and this man looked like he could
crush both Will and Quinn in one massive fist.

The older woman said something to the man in French, and he

responded, the French words sounding peculiar with his Scots burr.
Then he said to Will, “Grandmother says I should hug ye, but I
think I‟ll leave that to Quinn, if ye don‟t mind. I don‟t want ye
boltin‟ from sheer terror.”

“No, sir,” Will said gratefully.
“These women think that it should all be hugs and whatnot,”

Mr. MacLachlan said. “Comes of bein‟ part Irish and part French
and all Creole. Huggin‟ and kissin‟ and whatnot.” He gave Will a
wink. “But I‟m Scots. We dunna do that.”

“Me either, sir.”
“Bebe!”
Will turned and was enveloped in a cloud of some lovely

perfume  and  slender,  graceful  arms.  Quinn‟s  mother  was  just  as
beautiful  as  he  was,  with  fine,  delicate  features  and  silky  gold-
streaked hair, like Quinn‟s. Her skin was a soft nut brown, smooth
and  flawless,  and  her  lips  soft  as  she  kissed  Will‟s  cheek.
“Bienvenu, Will,” she murmured. His name sounded like “Weel.”
“Welcome. Come and meet the family,” and she took his arm as if
they were going on promenade.

The older lady was, of course, Quinn‟s grandmother, Mrs.

Quinlevan  (“Thus  the  „Quinn,‟”  Quinn  said.  “I  was  spared  the
whole  thing”) and the  two  younger girls, Siobhan  and Saoirse. “I
thought you were Scottish,”  Will asked in an aside to Quinn, and

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Quinn said, “My mother‟s a quarter Irish; her father was half Irish
and half French, and she named all of us Irish first names and
French middle names, since we‟ll all end up with Scottish last
names. It‟s her idea of compromise, and you see how that works.”

“What‟s your middle name?”
Quinn made a face. “Francois.”
Will grinned. “I‟ll remember that.”
“I bet you will.”
In a moment of stillness while the others bustled around the

room getting ready to go out, he found himself seated next to the
grandmother. She regarded him from under a carefully shaped
black eyebrow, and said, “Your injuries are healing?”

He nodded. Her voice was like the rest of her, serene and

dignified, and with a faint French, or maybe Creole, accent. He
didn‟t know much about accents, but whatever it was, it made her
eerie and exotic. “Yes, thank you.”

“You are very polite,” she said approvingly. “Quinn should

only date gentlemen. He is a gentleman himself—all my bebes are
well behaved. It is a shame that you should be damaged, but there
are many villains in the world. Best you should learn that young,
and so learn to defend against them.” She patted his hand. “You
will be good for Quinn, I think. Camille.”

She didn‟t shout—or even raise her voice above a

conversational tone—but all activity ceased immediately. “Oui,
Maman?”

“My wrap?”
“Of course.” Mrs. MacLachlan brought over a tweed coat and

helped her into it as if it were the finest fur. Mrs. Quinlevan
regarded Will with dark, thoughtful eyes, then took his arm much
as her daughter had done. “I like you,” she said mildly.

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“That‟s a new one,” Mr. MacLachlan said with a rumbling

laugh. “You must be special, Will. Maman Quin has most of the
city terrorized.”

“„The city‟?”
“New Orleans.” Quinn said. “In the French Quarter. She lives

there. Her house has been in her family for over two hundred
years.”

“My ancestress was a quadroon, and clever. Do you know what

a quadroon is?” She turned her head to look at Will. Unlike her
petite daughter, she was easily Will‟s height and could look him
straight in the eye.

“Yes, ma‟am.”
“She had four children with various lovers. Two married into

the white race, and two married into the black. The white line died
out.” She smiled at Will. “My line did not. So. We are ready to go,
Camille, Ian. Girls.” She raised her head and led the way from the
room with Will, Quinn and the others tailing behind.

* * *

At least Quinn got to sit next to him at dinner, and shelter him a

little  from  the  girls‟  questions.  After  thirty  or  forty  of  them,
Camille  told  them  to  stop  pestering  Will,  and  turned  the
conversation  to  what  they  were  planning  during  their  visit  to  the
city. They, of course, immediately focused on what they could do
to make their stay-at-home siblings jealous.

“Are the other kids younger?” Will asked. “Than the girls, I

mean. I know you‟re the oldest.”

Quinn nodded. “One older than them, the other two younger.

Patrick was furious about missing the trip, but his school doesn‟t

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get out until Thursday. Declan and Seamus don‟t care as long as
they can play video games. My aunt is taking care of them.”

“I can‟t imagine my aunt taking care of anyone,” Will said.

“My family isn‟t that close.”

“Obviously,” Quinn said. He hesitated, then said in a low

voice, “Speaking of women, though—there‟s a lady at a table over
to your left that‟s been staring at you for about the last ten
minutes.”

Will went rigid. This restaurant was a lot fancier than most of

the ones his family usually went to, but it was still local, and it
might be someone from his church or neighborhood or… He
glanced over his shoulder, and froze. “Oh, fuck,” he whispered.

His mother stared at him from a table halfway across the

restaurant,  her  face  gray  and  expressionless.  She  was  wearing  a
nice  suit  and  Will  remembered  with  a  sinking  heart  her  talking
about going out for dinner the Sunday before Christmas. It looked
like  the  small  matter  of  losing  her  younger  son  hadn‟t  put  those
plans on hold. Beside her, his brother Keith gazed at him, his face
equally  pale,  but  worried.  A  third  place  setting  was  on  the  table,
with a half-empty wineglass, and an empty chair. “It‟s my family,”
Will said numbly, and turned back to Quinn, groping for his hand.

Quinn took Will‟s. “Shit,” he murmured.
Quinn‟s dad had caught the exchange. “Do you want to leave,

Will?” he asked kindly.

“No. No, he won‟t start anything in public. Just—let‟s just eat,

okay?”

“He better not start anything,” Siobhan or Saoirse said. “Dad

can beat the crap out of him.”

The other one said, “Yeah. Nobody messes with our friends.”
Despite his horror and embarrassment, Will felt grateful for

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their advocacy. They didn‟t know him, but it was enough for them
that Quinn did. It didn‟t matter to Quinn‟s family what he was; all
that mattered to them was who he was. “It‟s okay,” he said, feeling
better. “Let‟s just enjoy our dinner and ignore them.”

Mrs. MacLachlan, who was sitting on Will‟s other side,

reached over and stroked his hair as if he were one of her own.
“We can leave, if you like.”

Will shook his head again. “No. It‟s okay.” He picked up his

fork and started eating his steak, although all the pleasure he‟d
found in it earlier was gone. He tried to ignore the stares from the
other table, but was terribly aware of when his father had returned
from the restroom or wherever else he had gone; the feeling of the
staring changed and became more hostile. Trying not to bolt his
food, he ate quietly and methodically, just wanting to finish and be
gone before anything happened.

It probably wouldn‟t, he reasoned. His father wasn‟t that big an

asshole  that  he  would  start  a  fight  in  a  nice  restaurant.  Besides,
he‟d told Will that as far as he  was concerned, he wasn‟t his son
any  longer.  So  that  meant  Will  was  free,  right?  To  find  another
family  or  whatever?  And  he  liked  Quinn‟s  family.  They  weren‟t
local;  they  were  only  staying  here  a  few  days,  so  his  father
couldn‟t  do  anything  to  them.  He  shook  his  head,  smiling,  when
Mrs.  MacLachlan  asked  if  he  wanted  dessert,  and  waited  for  this
horrible evening to be over.

The worst part about it was that if it hadn‟t been for Will‟s

family  being  there,  this  might  have  been  the  best  evening  of  his
life.  Quinn  sat  close  beside  him,  his  knee  pressed  against  Will‟s,
and  every  so  often  their  eyes  would  meet  and  Quinn  would  give
him  a  Look,  and  Will  would  feel  the  heat  rising  in  his  face  and
belly.  And  then  the  tease  would  turn  back  and  say  something

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innocuous or clever to his family, and Will would be left hanging.
In those moments, he forgot all about the people at the other table,
and would think wickedly of just how he‟d make Quinn pay for
teasing him.

But then memory would hit back, and he would turn and

surreptitiously glance over at the other table. His father sat with his
back to Will, but once in a while he‟d catch his mother giving him
an anxious look, or Keith looking uncomfortable. Good. He hoped
they were all uncomfortable.

At last the meal was over, and they left. Will welcomed the

cold night air on his cheeks; he‟d felt like they were burning all
through dinner.

They were halfway down the block, heading for where the

MacLachlans‟ big SUV was parked, when Will heard, “William.”

He froze, and they all stopped.
Quinn said, “You okay?” and Will nodded dumbly.
After a moment, his father said, “William,” again, and this time

Will turned around, his hands fisted inside his mittens. “Yes?” he
said, proud of the fact that his voice didn‟t even so much as
tremble.

His father looked at him, then past him at the MacLachlans in a

solid phalanx at his back. “I want to talk to you.”

Will held up a hand. “Then talk.”
“In private.”
He hesitated, then shook his head. “No, sir. Here‟s fine.”
Again, the sharp, disdainful look beyond him, then “This ain‟t

any of their business, but if that‟s the way you want it. Look, I‟m
willing to give you a second chance.”

Quinn made a choking sound; Will didn‟t take his eyes from

his father‟s annoyed face. “A second chance?”

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“Yeah. Come home, finish out the school year as a commuter

student. You don‟t need to stay there with those people. Our pastor
said he‟d talk with you, get you some help. You‟ll be okay. I can
get  you  a  summer  job  with  the  company,  and  we‟ll  figure  out
where to go from there. No sense  wasting this year‟s scholarship,
though—it‟ll  look  good  on  a  resume  if  you  have  some  college
classes. But there‟s no reason for you to stay on campus. Come on.
We can get your stuff from there later.”

Was he serious? “No, sir,” Will said. His voice, to his own

ears, was level and certain, and it surprised him. He glanced past
his father to see his mother, standing in the same fingers-on-lips
position, and Keith, looking uncomfortable. “I don‟t think so.”

“What are you talking about?” his father snapped, and took a

step forward. “You don‟t have any choice. You‟re coming home
with us tonight.”

“Sorry,” Will said. He felt Quinn at his back, a solid,

supporting warmth. “I‟m not going back there. There‟s nothing
there for me.”

His mother sobbed faintly, but didn‟t move her fingers.
“Do you hear that, Barb? Nothing? You‟re nothing to him.” His

father turned back to him. “You‟ve got your mother fucking upset,
boy. You‟ve got her completely stressed out, crying all the time.
You want to keep making her feel crappy? You‟re doing a good
job of it!”

Will was the one upsetting her? Will was the one to blame for

this? Oh, no. Oh, hell no. But still— His mother sobbed again.
Keith, expressionless, put an arm around her shoulder.

Quinn, behind him, was silent, but Will heard his voice in his

head, wondering. Where was she when he was hitting you?

Same place she ever was, behind her husband, watching.

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Making excuses. A wave of fury washed over him, at his mother,
at his father, at himself for putting up with his father‟s abuse for so
long.

“Selfish bastard,” Will‟s father said.
Will‟s pulse was pounding in his ears, and sweat steamed down

the  back  of  his  neck  and  on  his  forehead,  despite  the  frigid
temperatures. He was scared and angry and hurt and he wasn‟t sure
what  he  was  doing.  Yeah,  he  felt  guilty  about  his  mother,  but  his
father terrified him, and infuriated him, and him being gay wasn‟t
something he needed help about. And he knew that even if he went
home  and  his  father  never  laid  another  hand  on  him,  that  would
always be the issue.

He looked past his father, meeting his mother‟s eyes. They

were frightened and unhappy. “I‟m sorry, Mommy. I can’t.”

She turned and buried her face in Keith‟s coat. He put both

arms around her, then turned to look at Will.

To his shock, Keith just nodded, as if he approved of Will‟s

decision.

“Fucking little shit,” Will‟s father said. “Go on, then. Go with

your new friends,” and in that word was a wealth of contempt.
“We don‟t need you. Go to hell.” He turned and stalked away, past
his wife and older son. Will‟s mother backed out of Keith‟s arms
and followed.

Keith stood a moment, looking after them, then turned back

toward Will, and surprised Will a second time that evening by
walking over to them. “Will,” he said, then turned his attention to
Quinn. “You‟re his roommate, right? This your family?”

“Yeah,” Quinn said warily.
Keith gave them an awkward smile. “Sorry about that. Dad‟s

usually not that big of an ass… I mean, he‟s usually a little calmer

ANGEL VOICES

than that. It‟s been a rough weekend. You doing okay?” This to
Will.

“Yeah.”
“You look like shit.”
“Feel about that way, too,” Will said. “Couple cracked ribs and

a concussion will do that.”

Keith closed his eyes. “Fu… frak,” he said, as he usually did in

mixed company. “Jesus, I‟m sorry, Will. I don‟t know what
happened with him.”

“Yeah, you do.”
“Yeah, I guess I do.”
“Better get going. Don‟t want him pissed at you.”
Keith shook his head. “No. It bugs Mom. She is upset, but not

with you. With the whole situation. Look—don‟t worry about her.
We‟ll be in touch with you in a few days, after Dad has a chance to
simmer down—”

Will shook his head. “He won‟t change his mind about this.”
“No, but he won‟t be as mad about it either. We‟ll be able to

get around him. We‟ll be in touch.” He glanced back at Will‟s
family. “Sorry about the ruckus. Have a Merry Christmas, guys,
okay?”

Mr. MacLachlan said quietly, “Thank you. Keith, innit?”
“Yeah.”
“Will told us about ye at dinner. He loves you. Dinna be a

numpty.”

Keith grinned. “I‟ll try not to. Whatever that means. Thanks.”

He reached out and gave Will a gentle hug, and then turned and
jogged back down the sidewalk toward the others.

Will found he was shaking, and turned to Quinn, who gathered

him in. “Shh, bebe,” Quinn said softly. “It will be okay. See? You

ANGEL VOICES

have your brother back. It will all be okay.”

Mr. MacLachlan‟s hand settled on Will‟s shoulder. “Aye, lad.

It will all be okay.”

* * *

It wasn‟t quite “all okay,” but Will managed. He let Quinn drag

him around to a dozen different offices and agencies, starting with
the  college  admissions  office  and  ending  with  the  college
Gay/Straight  Alliance  headquarters,  where  they  dug  through  piles
of paperwork hunting for possible grants in the company of several
of Quinn‟s acquaintances.  Quinn  was like  a star, drawing  planets
into  his  gravitational  pull;  everywhere  he  went  he  trailed  people
like comets.

Will he kept close, constantly reaching out to touch him as he

talked  to  someone  else,  or  catching  his  eye  as  they  worked  on
different  computer  monitors  in  the  Financial  Aid  office.  That
constant contact sucked Will in like a black hole; the warmth, the
steadiness,  in  someone  his  own  age,  was  both  scary  and
comforting.  Like  Quinn  was  a  rock  in  a  torrent.  He  remembered
several  times  one  of  the  lines  from  the  duet  he  and  the  girl  had
been practicing: “as to that rock I‟m clinging…” He was clinging
to Quinn, and Quinn didn‟t seem to mind a bit.

It bugged Will, though, until he realized, oh, about Thursday,

that  it  wasn‟t  so  much  that  Will  was  clinging  to  Quinn  as  Quinn
was  steering  Will,  like  a  tugboat  steers  an  ocean  liner  where  it
wants the liner to go when the liner doesn‟t have an opinion. Like a
big  brother,  only  not,  because  Will  was  hot  for  Quinn,  and
Keith…ew. Keith was the big brother, and Quinn was the guy he
slept  with—because  they‟d  pushed  their  beds  together  and  were

ANGEL VOICES

sleeping—or not—bundled up together. Sometimes they just slept,
but  usually  at  least  one  of  them  would  start  something  the  other
one would then feel obliged to reciprocate, and despite the beating,
despite the concussion and the frostnip and the fight with his father
and  the  worry  and  betrayal  he  felt  for  his  mother,  and  the  worry
about  losing  his  scholarship  and  getting  kicked  out  of  school,
despite all of that…

It was the best fucking week of his life.

* * *

The church was crowded Christmas Eve, of course, as churches

tend  to  be. This  one  was  High  Anglican,  almost  Roman  Catholic,
Quinn had told Will, so there would be a Midnight Mass after the
concert. Quinn and his family—and Will—wouldn‟t be staying for
that,  though;  they  had  a  two  hour  drive  home,  and  Quinn‟s  folks
wanted to be home early enough to have their usual Christmas Eve
with  the  family.  They‟d  go  to  church—a  Catholic  one—in  the
morning with the rest of the kids, and Quinn and Will could sleep
in.

Will hadn‟t been to any more of the rehearsals, so despite

having heard bits and pieces of the songs before, the whole thing,
put  together,  was  brand  new  to  him.  When  Ellen  and  Quinn  sang
their  duet,  it  sent  chills  up  and  down  his  spine,  and  when  Quinn
soloed on “Oh, Holy Night,” Will‟s breath caught in his throat. He
glanced  over  at  the  twins,  to  see  them  rapt  and  finally  still,  their
eyes on the dark altar, the only light there the reflection of the nave
lights on all the gilt accouterments. Mrs. MacLachlan‟s eyes were
wet,  and  Mr.  MacLachlan‟s  expression  was  fiercely  proud  and
satisfied.  Will  never  remembered  seeing  his  own  father  with  that

ANGEL VOICES

expression.

He caught Mrs. Quinlevan looking at him; when he met her

eyes,  she  smiled  and  nodded  approvingly.  He  wasn‟t  quite  sure
what she was approving of. He‟d dressed nice for the evening, just
as  he  had  on  Sunday,  wanting  to  make  a  good  impression  on
Quinn‟s family, but other than that, he was his same self, complete
with  fading  yellow-green  bruises.  He  didn‟t  know  what  she  was
thinking, but she turned back to gaze straight ahead, and Will gave
a mental shrug and lost himself in the music again.

* * *

After the concert, there was a small reception in the vestibule,

with  coffee  and  muffins,  for  the  performers,  the  audience,  and
early-arrivers  for  Midnight  Mass.  To  Will‟s  very  great  shock,  his
brother  Keith  was  there  by  the  coffee  urn,  waiting  for  him.  Will
went  tense,  but  Mrs.  Quinlevan  took  his  arm  and  smiled
beatifically at him, then at Keith.

“What do you want?” Will asked, but Quinn‟s grandmother‟s

presence made him mild down the tone.

Keith didn‟t take offense. “Quinn‟s a really good singer,” he

said. “They all were. It was a good concert. Mom liked it. Real
Christmassy.”

Will went light-headed. “The folks are here?”
“No, just Mom. Aunt Julie came too. They went out to the car.

She  said if  you liked,  you could come  out and say hi.  She didn‟t
want  to  make  a  scene  in  front  of  everyone.  But  Dad‟s  not  there,
and  nobody‟s  gonna  bash  you  or  anything.”  He  gave  Quinn‟s
grandmother  a  smile.  “Merry  Christmas,  Mrs.  Quinn‟s
Grandmother.”

ANGEL VOICES

“Quinlevan,” Will said.
“Mrs. Quinlevan.”
“Merry Christmas to you, too, Keith,” she said, then to Will, “I

will leave you to speak with your brother. Be kind.” And to Will‟s
surprise, she gave him a kiss on the cheek before turning and
gliding back to where her daughter and son-in-law waited.

“She‟s cool,” Keith said admiringly. “She‟s like a queen or

something.”

“Yeah,” Will said curtly. “So.”
“So. Yeah. Okay, here‟s the deal. Dad was going all ballistic

about the scholarship so as you‟d think he was the one who gave it
to  you,  and  he  called  Pastor  Martin  about  it,  trying  to  get  him  to
say that  he‟d cancel it because  you were  gay and an abomination
and all that shit. I mean, fuck, Will, I kinda thought you  were gay
since  you  were  little,  and  I  think  Mom  suspected.  Dad‟s  got  his
head up his ass, though. Anyway, I called Pastor Martin yesterday
to find out what was going on, and he got back to me today. Fact
is,  your scholarship is golden. You‟re  set  for the  rest of the  year.
Pastor Martin isn‟t as fundy as Dad, and the scholarship board isn‟t
just  our  church,  but  a  couple  of  Unitarian  and  more  liberal  ones.
The board doesn‟t discriminate. That‟s gonna piss Dad off, but too
bad.  Dad  closed  your  checking  account,  though.  You‟ll  need  to
open one of your own.”

“With what?” Will asked, dazedly. He could stay. He wasn‟t

going to have to leave Quinn or school, and he had time to try and
find  some  other  funding  before  next  year.  He  might  be  able  to
finish  his  degree  after  all.  He  had  room  and  board  through  the
scholarship.  But  he  didn‟t  have  any  other  money,  for  books  or
anything,  although  they  had  filled  out  an  application  for  a
Work/Study program this week.

ANGEL VOICES

“I‟ve got some cash, and Mom‟s putting in some, and Aunt

Julie. We got about four hundred bucks and Mom will get you
some more later. Dad don‟t have to know. Hey, stop crying. That‟s
so gay.”

“So am I,” Will sobbed.
“C‟mere,” Keith said with a long-suffering sigh, and Will went

into his arms. “Stupid dork,” Keith said into his ear. “You‟re my
fucking brother. Of course I‟m not gonna ditch you, loser.”

“I love you, Keith.”
“Yeah, me too, dork. Come on, get your coat. Mom really

wants to see you, okay?” Seeing Will‟s hesitation, Keith said
gently, “She knows what Dad is, Will, but seeing him do that to
you really fucked her up. She needs to know that you‟re going to
be okay, and that you don‟t hate her.”

“I don‟t hate her. I‟m really, really pissed at her, but I don‟t

hate her.”

“Good. Pissed she deserves. Come on.”

* * *

After all that, it was sort of an anticlimax. Will went with Keith

out to the car, where his mother waited anxiously, and they hugged
and  said  all  sorts  of  mother-son  things,  and  Keith  unloaded  a
trunkload  of  Christmas  presents  they‟d  sneaked  out  of  the  house
for Will to open at the MacLachlans‟. Quinn‟s parents came out a
few  minutes  later  and  Will  introduced  them.  His  mother  was
pathetically grateful to them for taking Will for Christmas, though
Will  could  see  that  she  didn‟t  impress  either  MacLachlan  that
much. Then he‟d kissed her and Aunt Julie, wished them a Merry
Christmas, and watched them drive out of the parking lot.

ANGEL VOICES

Quinn put his arm around Will‟s shoulders and picked up the

big black garbage bag with Will‟s presents in it, and said, “Well,
bebe?”

Will turned and looked at Quinn. His lover was gazing at him

with those dark, bright eyes, his wide, white smile sitting easy on
his beautiful face. “Yeah,” he said. “I‟m pretty damn well, under
the circumstances.”

“Then it‟s all good. Ready to come home with me now?”
“Yeah.” Will looped his arm around Quinn‟s waist, and they

headed toward the MacLachlan‟s SUV. “So. We‟re sharing a
room, right?”

“Yeah. Patrick‟s taking the couch. You‟ll sleep in his bed.”
“Any chance we can do more than sleep?”
“In my parents‟ house?” Quinn was mock-shocked. “Why

Will!”

“Why Will?” Will said wickedly, with a faint leer. “Why not?”
Quinn burst into laughter. “Yeah. Why not?”
The MacLachlans turned to see what was so funny, but that

only sent the two boys off into more paroxysms of hilarity and
relief, the laughter breaking the tension that Will had been under
for so long.

Mrs. Quinlevan said austerely, “I see that we are going to have

an interesting week, eh?”

“We will if I have anything to say about it,” Quinn said, and

ruffled Will‟s hair.

OWAN

PEEDWELL

Born  on  a  mountaintop  in  Tennessee  (or  possibly  in  a  hospital  in
suburban  Chicagoland;  the  data  is  unreliable),  Rowan  Speedwell
was  kidnapped  at  young  age  by  time  travelers,  who  dragged  her
around  ‟20‟s  Paris,  ‟30‟s  Hollywood,  ancient  Egypt,  the  23rd
Century  Federation  and  Imperial  Spain  before  dropping  her  into
the  latter  half  of  the  20th  Century,  from  which  she  has
miraculously escaped into the first half of the 21st. She still misses
the  Federation,  though.  And  she  wonders  why,  after  all  her  vast
experience with time, she has so little of it.

What  time  she  does  have,  she  spends  writing,  reading,  sewing,
reading,  making  jewelry,  reading,  researching  obscure  topics,
reading, shooting arrows (badly), and petting her cat. And reading.

For more information about Rowan, please visit her website:

www.rowanspeedwell.wordpress.com

* * *

Don’t miss Bitterwood

by Rowan Speedwell,

available at AmberAllure.com!

Outrunning  a  winter  storm  in  the  north,  Captain  Faran  of  the
King’s  Guard,  his  men,  and  a  young  mage  named  Meric  find
shelter  at  the  ancestral  home  of  the  Daenes,  Bitterwood  Manor.

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