Rowan Speedwell Angel Voices^

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…

LSO

OWAN

PEEDWELL

Bitterwood

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

For the lost and lonely ones

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

ANGEL VOICES

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

ANGEL VOICES

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?”

ANGEL VOICES

“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

ANGEL VOICES

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,

ANGEL VOICES

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,

ANGEL VOICES

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

ANGEL VOICES

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.

ANGEL VOICES

“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

ANGEL VOICES

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

ANGEL VOICES

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

ANGEL VOICES

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?”

ANGEL VOICES

“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.

ANGEL VOICES

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.

Faran and his troops have been searching for six weeks for both a
powerful unknown mage, and for a mysterious, lion-like beast that
reportedly haunts the uncharted northern woods.

Faran finds the first clue in their quest: the Daene family
heraldry—a gold cat on a red field. Meric finds something much
more interesting—the son of the house, Eissa. For his part, Faran
is fascinated by the powerful figure of Joss, a widower who
manages Bitterwood and its environs with a strong, steady hand.

Together they will need to brave the oldest, darkest part of the
Bitterwood in the coldest, deepest snows of winter, to find the
legendary gold cat and the prophesied mage, for time is running
out—for Meric, and for the kingdom.

MBER

UILL

RESS

LLC

OLD

TANDARD IN

UBLISHING

UALITY

OOKS

OTH

RINT AND

LECTRONIC

ORMATS

CTION

DVENTURE

USPENSE

HRILLER

CIENCE

ICTION

ARK

ANTASY

AINSTREAM

OMANCE

ORROR

ROTICA

ANTASY

GLBT

ESTERN

YSTERY

ARANORMAL

ISTORICAL

IRECT

AVE

www.AmberQuill.com

www.AmberHeat.com

www.AmberAllure.com

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