Chapter 34

Kat chuckled, lightly. “He was at least nice about it,” she said. “No, you go, Andy. Do something. Make sure Scooter doesn’t get to talk to him for too long. We’ve kept him out of Sharpe’s bed for the last few years, we don’t want to break that streak. Scooter gets really upset, after it happens.”

This was sounding more and more horrible by the moment. Andy gently nudged Kat to the side and peered out the window into the dining room. Scooter’s back was to the kitchen, hands held casual, but his shoulders were stiff and unhappy. There was a young man—a kid, really, couldn’t possibly be more than eighteen—sitting at the table, wearing a polo shirt and khaki shorts, with a fashionably shaved head and thick, black spectacles. The kid wasn’t paying attention to Scooter, but at the person sitting across the table, eyes starry, someone Andy couldn’t see because Scooter was in the way.

Then Scooter shifted, and Andy got his first glimpse of the Senator. And oh, fuck, if that was the guy Scooter had been pining after for ten years, Andy had no chance at all; Sharpe was flat-out gorgeous. Older—in his forties, if Andy had to guess—but wearing it well, with a square jaw and golden-tan skin and dark blond hair that was just the right amount of messy. He had blue eyes and a smile that projected sincerity. Sharpe was movie-star handsome, and carried himself like money and power, a dizzying combination.

No wonder Scooter wanted him. Hell, Andy half-wanted him, despite Jason and Kat’s warnings about what a prick he was. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the hell could Andydo that would possibly distract anyone from that?

He stared in dismay, unable to move. Kat was saying something to him, but he couldn’t understand her over the rushing of blood in his ears. 14

Thirteen Years Earlier

Scooter loathed summers more than anything else. All his friends were out surfing or skating or getting into trouble, but not Scooter.

Scooter had a job. It was a boring job and he barely got paid for it, less than two dollars an hour, and that was ridiculous because the two waitresses were supposed to share tips with the busboy (that would be him), but they didn’t whenever they thought Scooter’s mom wouldn’t notice, which was most of the time. About once a week, Dottie made a show of handing her tips over and Scooter just had to fucking eat it the rest of the time.

Jason helped, sometimes, but Scooter wasn’t comfortable with that for any number of reasons. Not the least of which was that Jason kept jumping in whenever anyone took it in their heads to give Scooter shit about being gay, and as a result, Jason spent half his time covered in bruises and scrapes and, on a couple of occasions, bites. Because of Scooter. Everyone in town knew he was gay; Scooter had been outed spectacularly when he was barely ten. Someone had figured it out—maybe it was the way Scooter didn’t participate in the various girls-are-icky dance of playground stupidity, or the way he was a little bit dreamy in class, or even that he was just pretty, for a boy.

Harry Drumheller probably wasn’t the one who’d figured it, or maybe he was just guessing, but he’d passed Scooter a “Do you like me y/n?” note in class, then teased and tempted him out into the playground and around the far side of the slide for a promised kiss.

Instead of getting the kiss, Scooter had gotten exposed as a fairy to most of the kids in the third grade and smacked around while the teacher was just a little too slow in breaking things up. When the principal demanded to know why they’d hit him, Scooter said, “They said I’s gay,” and instead of those kids getting punished, the principal had wondered “Are you?” Jason was the only one who had defended Scooter then, and not much had changed over the last several years.

So most of the time, Scooter would give Jason the easiest parts of the job—wrapping the silverware in the napkins or wiping down the tables—but when that was done, Scooter preferred Jason to just sit on the back steps and sketch, keeping Scooter company while Scooter’s fingers turned pruney in the dishwater.

That day, the one when Scooter’s whole life changed, Jason had taken a particularly tough beating, and from the way his eyes kept going unfocused, Ma was worried he had a concussion. Ma had sent Jason up to the house to sit in the air conditioning and told Scooter to check in on him regularly, in case it got bad enough that they needed to run him up to the ER.