Come Christmas Steve

Chapter 20

Come Christmas Steve

Fear vs Hope

Adam, the attorney, drove us back to the motel and we thanked him. We made our arrangements to meet again in the morning. We were to have a strategy meeting and then go meet with the judge to set some calendar items. The reunion with Whittaker had been wonderful - just what the doctor ordered. The little act of service I performed for him had been a bonus.

Back in the motel, Dad and I kicked our shoes off and fell on our beds, just relaxing and getting lost in our individual thoughts.

I wondered how long before the mess would be behind us and I could reunite with Steve. I did better each day with my emotions, but the thoughts of Calvin still haunted me. When they came, I drew into myself and became sullen. Dad recognized it, I think, because he would make an effort to distract me. All the logic in the world couldn't keep me from berating myself for his death. I knew I wasn't directly responsible, but I'd held the power to change the course of events and stubbornly refused.

That got me to wondering how many things I'd done in my life which had altered the lives of others. Possibly, many more than I could even imagine. Some small and some not so small. I pondered over how much God controlled our lives and how much was just randomness. If, for instance, my father hadn't fallen in love with and married my mom, would I even exist? I wondered just how important the things that happen to us in this life really are. Like, in the eternal perspective.

Maybe none of it matters. Maybe it's just a play and we're actors on the stage. My high school English teacher went on and on one time about Shakespeare saying something like that. Perhaps it matters a lot. Maybe it only matters what we do and why we do it, like if our motives are pure and good. Possibly, the bad things that happen to us are less important than how we deal with them. Live or die, dance or sit out, be charitable or selfish, trust God or blame him. Maybe shit that happens TO us is just insignificant in the whole scheme of things. Maybe it's only things that happen BECAUSE of us that matters. I'd like to think so.

The answers to all these questions seemed beyond my grasp, so I stuffed them back into the closet and pushed the door shut. What difference would knowing make anyway? I knew one thing for sure, I wanted to spend my life doing good things and making a positive difference in the lives of others. There was just too much evil, anger, attitude, selfishness and violence in our world. While I would never expect to impact or change the world in a monumental way, I could make individual differences. If one life could be better because of me, then I would count my life valuable. I just had no idea at the time what or how to do such a thing. But I felt within me that it would come to be and I would find a way to change a few lives for the better. Somehow and some way, my life would matter. My hard outer shell had been cracked by Steve and the tender seedling within was sprouting. What would I grow to be? A mighty oak or a towering evergreen, I hoped.

"What?" My dad said into the cell phone. "Slow down! What's going on?"

That caught my attention and I sat up to listen. "Call the Sheriff and make them get off our property," Dad stated.

There was a pause as the frantic voice of my mother spoke. It was unintelligible to me and I could see it was difficult for my dad as well. "No! Do NOT speak to them, just ignore them," Dad growled.

Another pause and blaring questions from my mother were followed with my father, a bit exasperated now, saying, "Well just don't answer the home phone. Unplug the damned thing. Anyone you need to talk to can call on the cell phone and you can see who's calling on it."

"Well just don't talk to anyone but me, then. They're just a bunch of gossiping, wet hens. Don't talk to anybody about this and especially not Margaret. She could hold a mouthful of gasoline longer than a juicy bit of gossip. Okay, I'll talk to Andy, but I don't know what he can do. Just stay inside as much as possible. Now hang up and call the Sherriff. Bye. Love you too. Bye."

"Dad, what's going on?" I asked.

"Media maggots." He gripped his cell phone and set his jaw. I knew he was pissed off whenever he set his jaw like that. "They're invading our place and trying to get a statement from Billy. And from you. I guess they don't know that you're still here. Things must be on the news because neighbors are calling and wondering what's going on too. SUMMABITCH!"

"Oh shit. I never even thought about that. I guess it is a pretty big case and it makes sense that it would be big news. I guess they're looking for any angle for the story, huh?"

"Yes. They're leeches."

"How do they even know about me and Billy? None of that should be public?"

"Good question, Shane. Leaks, I s'pose," Dad said. I could see he was really bothered that people were on our property upsetting Mom. Dad was very protective. He dialed Adam, the attorney, who instructed him to contact Billy and Mom and tell them NOT to answer any questions. Adam said that they should simply give the 'no comment' response to everything and avoid even interacting with the media if at all possible. He agreed with Dad that the Sheriff should be called to keep them off the property. Then Dad handed the phone to me. The media horde hadn't found me yet, but they soon would. I wondered if they would bother Whittaker.

"Shane, I want to make certain that if you are approached by any media that you simply say 'no comment' to everything they ask. I mean EVERYTHING. They will try to ask things to upset you and that you will want to respond to. Resist the urge. This is extremely important. I should have mentioned it before, but I didn't think they would be on it this quickly and I never thought they would be able to connect Billy to it. I'm furious over that. The prosecutor is going to get an earful the minute I hang up with you. Any questions?" Adam asked.

"No sir. I got it."

"Good. And good-bye." He hung up and I handed the phone over to Dad. Dad took the phone and dialed Mom back.

I turned on the TV and found a news channel. It wasn't very long before a story on the Montana Boys Home Sex Ring Murders played. I was shocked to see high school yearbook pictures of me and Whittaker and, of course, Calvin flash across the screen. Pictures of Steve, Todd, Simba and most importantly, Uncle Arty were displayed, followed by pictures of the Boys home. The anchor was explaining that details were limited and trying to sound convincing that they had the most up to date information of all the news stations. It was clear that they didn't know too much yet. I could tell why they were anxious to get a statement from me or Billy. I wondered if they'd ascended on Whittaker in the hospital.

"This is Stella Garcia on the campus of Montana State University with an important exclusive," Stella spouted nearly breathless. Her dress was inappropriately short and her shoes excessively tall for a TV reporter. Her shiny black hair was impeccably quaffed. With specious gravity in her voice, she continued, "Behind me is the dormitory where alleged sex ring perpetrators, Steven Fahrenheit and Shane Steele were roommates." She paused for effect. "We have an exclusive interview with Wesley Jensen, a fellow student and acquaintance of the alleged perpetrators." I had no idea Jensen's first name was Wesley. I probably would have teased him about it if I had known, which is why I guess he never told us.

My intestines tightened themselves into a knot. I glanced over at my father who was sitting on the other bed intently staring at the television. I was not surprised that Stella left her white leather coat agape in order to flaunt her ample bosoms. But I knew it was not Stella's breasts that held my father's attention, it was the subject matter. Jensen was a wildcard and I was very nervous about what he might say.

Jensen stepped up next to her with a gloating smile, obviously thrilled to be getting his ten minutes of fame. Both my large and small intestines cinched up another notch. "What can you tell us about Steve Fahrenheit and Shane Steele's relationship?" Stella asked.

"You mean like how they're gay lovers?" Jensen asked. I think I gasped out loud. I didn't even dare look at my dad, but I sensed a silent groan wafting from his direction. It's one thing for a father to tell his son that he accepts his gay nature, it's another thing altogether to have it announced on national news.

"How do you know that?" Stella queried.

"They told us. In fact, they had sex together in a hotel room in Yellowstone while my roommate, Whittaker, was in the other bed watching them go at it."

"Oh God, no" I muttered, "make him stop. Strike him mute, please, God, I beg you."

I heard my father grumble a disheartened, "What the hell?" I wanted to just vanish. I felt the fever pitch of a full blush in my forehead and cheeks.

"My goodness. So were Steve and Shane friends or lovers before they came here to MSU?" Stella probed.

"Nah. They met for the first time here when they got assigned to dorm together. Steve was pretty secretive about his past. It wasn't until just recently that we found out Steve was an orphan from that Boys home place. That's one of the things that caused the big fight between them."

"Between Steve and Shane? They had a fight?" Stella pursued. This was getting juicy and I could see the orgasmic proportioned thrill she was getting from it. There'd be no cutting back to the news room anytime soon, I could tell.

"Yeah, well, more of a lover's quarrel I think. Shane was upset at Steve because he wouldn't tell him things especially about his past. Plus, Shane was upset because Steve was off studying too much and not giving Shane all the sex he wanted." Another groan erupted from my father's side of the room as if a tasteless joke had been told during a funeral sermon. The funeral was mine, I feared. "I guess Steve really wasn't off studying like he said he was, though. He was really sneaking off to meet up with the sex ring guys from the orphanage place he grew up in. That's what my roommate told me."

"How did your roommate know that?" Stella asked.

Jensen puffed up his chest and relayed the computer drive story. "Steve was hiding some kind of a computer thumb drive he'd gotten from his sex ring buddies. It had a bunch of secret information about the sex ring like customers and tons of filthy kiddy porn on it. Calvin, my friend from choir class, told me about it. Calvin's the one who cracked the security code on the flash drive."

"Calvin is the young man who was murdered here on campus, right?"

"Yes." Jensen sort of choked back emotion and had to gather himself before continuing.

"The one found naked in his bed with his throat slit?" Stella asked to add titillation to her 'exclusive' interview." I figured she could smell the ratings that would come out of it. I was only shocked that she didn't mention the dildo shoved down his throat.

Jensen shot her a disapproving glance then nodded yes. He took a breath and carried on, "One night, Steve just suddenly disappeared and Shane freaked out over it. Shane became obsessed about finding him. Shane found the thumb drive under Steve's mattress and thought it might have a clue about Steve's disappearance on it."

"And did it?" Stella asked.

"Yeah, like I said, it had customers of the sex ring and a bunch of pictures of naked boys on it. It even had some pictures of Steve on it together with young naked boys in a motel room. He's a real creep. So anyway, I told Shane about my friend from choir class who was super good at computer stuff. Shane took the thumb drive to Calvin to crack the code on the files and he did it. I think that's why they killed him, to get the drive back." Staring into the camera, Stella said, "You heard it here first," Stella announced.

"Great work Stella. Some fascinating new details. I'd like to ask Mr. Jensen one more question," the studio anchorman stated. Just when I thought it was finally over, they were taking another body blow at me. "Do you know if Shane Steele was involved in the sex ring along with Steve Fahrenheit?" the anchor asked.

"Oh I don't know for sure, but I'm pretty sure he'd gotten involved in it. He was sure worried about what was on that thumb drive and he was sure worried about going to the police to help find Steve. He wanted to keep everything hush-hush. I mean, the FBI arrested and charged him, right? They must know something," Jensen responded accusingly.

"Shithead pussy," I thought out loud.

I was relieved to have the news move on to the big storm headed our way. Dad picked up the remote and silenced the TV. He sat back down on the opposite bed facing me. Reluctantly, I slid around the corner and was knee to knee with him. I forced myself to look him in the eye. I was calmed that I didn't see anger in them. I was dismayed to see profound sadness, however. We gazed on in silent contemplation for some time.

"Our lives are forever changed," he uttered "I thought this would be sensational for a while and then blow over. In our small community, this will never go away. Never."

"I know. I'm sorry, Dad. I never had any idea ..." I lost command of the language suddenly.

"You let that David Whittaker boy watch you while having sex with Steve?" my dad asked, clearly hoping it wasn't true.

I dropped my gaze to my stocking clad feet. Swallowing hard, I admitted, "Yes. But it wasn't like a kinky thing. He was locked out of his room because that asshole, Jensen, was in there having sex with a girl he'd picked up during the New Year's Eve party. Whittaker had nowhere to sleep so Steve agreed to let him be in the other bed. We were only using one, obviously, I guess. But he didn't watch. He stayed with his back to us and kept the covers over his head. Mostly, at least, I think. I kind of forgot he was there. You know, while we were ... well, you know."

"Hmm," Dad hummed. It was the sound he made when he didn't have the words to express his dissatisfaction with something.

"Did you actually refuse to go to the police with the information you had about Steve?" Dad inquired.

I looked him square in the eye again and answered truthfully, "Yes. I'm so angry with myself over that. If I hadn't been so damn stubborn about that, Calvin would probably be alive now and none of the rest of this would have happened to Billy and me, or to Whittaker. Or to ... to Calvin. I was just so sure that Steve needed a chance to explain and I guess I was blinded by my feelings for him." I studied the outline of my toes in my white socks again. My eyes were wet and my heart weighed more than the shot put in gym class that I could barely throw three feet out of the circle.

"Hmm." There it was again. Dad studied my face and rubbed his chin.

"Look me in the eyes, Shane." It wasn't a request, it was a command. When I met his steely gaze, he spoke in a measured, articulated manner, "Were you involved with Steve in the child porn ring? Did he pull you into it? Have you offended a child? Tell me the absolute truth!"

"NO! Dad, I honestly had no idea about Steve's past or the porn ring until Calvin decoded those files on the thumb drive. I swear on my life, I've never done anything at all with a child. The only thing I'm guilty of is stupidity. I'm so sorry I've drug the whole family into this mess because of my stubborn stupidity." I wanted to cry, but I shackled it. This was not the time for that. I held his gaze, unblinking.

After a full minute of silently searching my soul through my eyes, Dad's features softened. "I believe you, son. We'll deal with whatever comes our way from this. That's what family does."

I felt a large angry gorilla drop from my stooped back. "Thank you, Dad. I love you so much."

He stood and pulled me up into his arms and hugged me like when I was a little child. He threaded his large, rough fingers through my hair with his left hand and his right hand was pressed reassuringly between my shoulders. Now it was the right time to cry and we both shed tears. It was the first time I'd ever known my father to do so. I'd seen him curse and laugh, scowl and scoff, but never cry.

I couldn't help thinking how blessed I was to have a family to get me through the ordeal that lay ahead and a great sadness filled me as I wondered how Steve would get through it alone. I wondered how many sad lonely nights he'd spent as a child facing his demons. Demons imposed on him by those who were supposed to love and care for him. I began to have a glimpse into why he wouldn't - couldn't - share his past with me. Why would he want to rehearse it? His only hope was for a different future and those hopes were now dashed. I began to realize why he was now so full of negative expectations and despair. I wished I could run to the jailhouse and rescue him and hold him like my father was holding me. Better yet, I wanted to pull him into the same hug with my father, drawing him into our family circle.

I thought about how my father had said that our lives would never be the same. He didn't say my life would never be the same or that his life would never be the same. He'd said OUR lives would never be the same. He, and all my family, were in this boat with me. I was not alone and I was grateful.

We held each other as long as it took for my father to sense I was okay and then he relaxed his grip only slightly to be sure I was good. I was. Don't ask me how long we had hugged each other, I couldn't say. Long enough. As he had done for me as a child, he followed the hug with a quick kiss to my forehead. That was how he spoke his love for me. At night, when he tucked me into bed, rather than Mom, that brief peck on the forehead was his last act of love before leaving my room. The warmth of that memory flooded over me like a patchwork quilt.

"Thanks," I said. "I needed that." He just smiled his knowing smile.

"Want some pizza?" he asked. "I don't really feel like going out tonight."

"Me either. Thanks. Can we get a meat lover's?" I asked.

"Sure. Meat lover's it is. Seems like an appropriate choice," he added.

"Why?" I asked and then as his lip curled into a little grin, I asked, "Was that a gay reference?"

"No," he denied, but the irrepressible grin outed him. "Maybe. But just in good fun. Are you offended?"

I wasn't sure. I thought it over for a minute or two. "No. I'm not offended. I'm relieved, kind of, that you would be willing to tease me a little like that. I can tell it was good natured and not mean spirited."

"It was."

"Just don't make it a habit."

"I won't. I'm glad you're not upset," he responded.

I wasn't. As I thought about it, the fact he was willing to say something like that, showed me his acceptance of me. He'd tease Billy about his multiple girlfriends and Tom about being a bookworm, so why couldn't an occasional good natured tease about who I truly was be okay? I smiled and said, "Make sure you ask them to put AGED cheese on it for you, old man." I winked and he chuckled.

"Old? Who you calling old? I'm not old, I'm seasoned."

"Well then, ask for extra seasoning." He laughed out loud, gave me a playful shove onto my bed, and called the local pizza place which had placed a card on the night stand in our room. He ordered their version of a meat lover and couldn't resist taking one more shot at me by asking, "Son, do you prefer large or extra-large?" He had his big ole grin on that he always got when he was messing with someone.

"Oh," I answered holding my hands up about twelve inches apart, "the bigger the better." He shook his head and blushed a bit. I think I won that round. He ordered the large with extra sausage.

We watched a basketball game while we ate our pizza and chatted freely. When the pizza and game were finished, we got ready for bed even though it was still early for me. Dad's internal clock was set for early to bed and early to rise.

I slipped under the covers and wrapped my arms around the extra pillow, imagining it was Steve. I drifted back to that first time in the bunkhouse at Christmastime. I felt an empty longing. My anus twitched and ached to be filled. It had been so long. I lay there, softly kissing my pillow, growing increasingly horny for a dick up my ass. My own dick had grown stiff and pulsated with each quickened heartbeat. My father's breathing had settled into a slow rhythmic sleep pattern.

I reached for the replacement cell phone I'd gotten earlier that week. I did a quick search and found what I was looking for. I debated the wisdom of it for some time but realized when looking at the clock and the hours of their operation that I only had maybe five minutes to make a decision. I made it quickly and slid from my bed.

As silently as possible, I pulled my jeans on, buckling and zipping them up cautiously. I paused, listening for the continued evidence of my father's steady breathing. Next, I hooked the heels of my sneakers in my fingers and grabbed my t-shirt. I slipped my wallet into my pocket with the money Mom had given me to have just in case. I wasn't sure what she'd thought I'd need money for since I wasn't allowed to be out of her or Dad's sight, but that's just one of those things moms do and I was glad for it. It made me feel slightly more human with a little money in my pocket.

Carefully, I tip-toed to the door, snagging the plastic key card off the dresser and my jacket from the back of the chair. Slowly, I opened the door. I twitched with each little clack or creak it made as I opened it and slipped into the hallway. My heart was racing. I pulled the door carefully shut and then stood frozen while I listened to hear if my father had been awakened. The motel door latch seemed loud enough to wake the entire floor. Hearing no signs that he'd been disturbed, I pulled my shirt and jacket on and slid down the wall to put my shoes on. There was no turning back. I jumped up and sprinted down the hall, the stairs, and then out the side door onto the sidewalk.

I rushed down the street, following the directions on the map of the website. It was nearby, literally just around the corner from Highway 90 on 12th Street. When I reached it, I stood at the door and gripped the handle. I hesitated one last time, staring at the logo on the door. The big red logo with the words, Lovers Playground, stared back at me and beckoned me in. I walked in and was amazed at what I saw. Racks of skimpy lingerie, glass cases filled with every imaginable, and some unimaginable, sex toys, racks of porno vids organized by gay, straight and lesbian genres assaulted my vision.

"Hey, we close in five, dude. You know what you're after?" A skinny clerk with a scraggly beard stared at me with weary eyes. He was probably only thirty something, but he looked fifty. He had some hard miles on him.

"Umm, yeah. I want a ..." The word stuck in my throat, no pun intended.

"What?" he asked impatiently. I was the only customer and he clearly didn't want me browsing past his closing time.

"I want a, umm," I stepped up to the glass case and pointed at the display of dildos.

He rolled his eyes and strolled over to guide my selection. I thought about Calvin's collection and I saw one of the double sided ones like he'd had. It was lying next to the strap-on dicks so I assumed it was intended for lesbian lovers. Calvin had put it to another use. Staring at the rubber imitations and the thoughts of Calvin caused me to pause. The description of how they'd left him when they murdered him flooded my imagination and I suddenly felt ill.

I wanted so desperately to be filled again. I longed to experience an orgasm with a penis up my twitching ass to squeeze against and I tried to force the images of Calvin out of my mind. I thought of my dad and the great experience I'd just had with him back at the room. I wondered what he'd think of me standing there all desperate and horny.

"Well?" the clerk asked.

"Umm, I don't know. Maybe I'll wait."

"Wait? How old are you anyway? You got ID?" he questioned.

"I'm eighteen, almost nineteen. But no, I don't have ID with me. It was, uhh, taken."

"I thought so. Get the fuck out of my store, kid. I don't sell to underage kids. Fuckin' cops trying to set me up. It won't work. Get!" he growled.

"Whatever, I'm going."

I left quickly. My ears were burning and my heart was pounding. He really thought I was underage. I was offended and relieved at the same time. I really wanted one of those dildos to shove up my ass and enhance my self-inflicted orgasms, since it looked like that would be all I'd be getting for a while. But I quickly decided that I'd end up thinking about Calvin every time I did. Plus, I didn't want Dad to see it or find it and think all I ever thought about was sex. I hurried back to the room and crept back inside, undressed to my boxers and climbed back into bed. I'd succeeded in sneaking back in safely. I was relieved I hadn't gone through with my plan.

I chuckled inwardly as I thought about the one I would have bought - "Adam's Eight Inch Pleasure Pole." I thought about my attorney, Adam, and while I was sure the dildo in the store wasn't named after him, I suspected he'd fucked more than a few people who'd never saw his face. That's what I'd heard good attorneys did.

Slowly, erotically, I slow humped against the soft pillow and I dreamt once again of Steve. Ever so softly, I whispered into the pillow my endearing love for him. He whispered back to me in my mind. I continued slow dancing to this erotic frottage until the nerves of my bulbous head screamed for relief. My ass would just have to go without.

"Take me Steve. Take me hard," I whispered into his feathery ear. I pulled my boxers off in a rush and gripped my dick. I thrust into my fist with anxious abandonment. The desire rose and I stifled my moans, my ass twitched in disappointment over its lack of something to grip onto as my sorely needed orgasm crested and shook me hard. Thrust after thrust into my firm grip, my penis spilled its slippery cargo until at last, I was dry. I fell limply onto my spare pillow and panted in the aftermath. It was okay. It had been sufficient. I didn't need a dildo. I did need Steve, though. I knew I was in for a long spell of wistful longing. "But," I thought, "What a reunion it will be when it's all over and we can get together again."

There were things that needed tending to. Reluctantly, I pulled the covers off of me and squinted through the near darkness at the puddle of orgasmic residue spilled across my chest and embedded in my pubes. I used my boxers to wipe it all clean or as clean as I could get it.

The smell was familiar but it reminded me of my youthful masturbation sessions and not of lovemaking with Steve. The smell was mine alone and his sexual aroma was sadly missing. I stashed the pillow on the opposite side of the bed and pulled the covers back over my naked body. I was satiated and ready for sleep.

Adam, my attorney, showed up early the next day to begin our legal strategizing. I snatched a few oblong glances at his crotch, to see if I could detect what he might be packing. My curiosity was piqued over wondering if Adam's, my attorney's, dick was as big as Adam the unknown porn star's dick I'd seen at Lover's Playground. I mentally slapped myself and stopped peeking, as I realized how ridiculous I was being.

I was already sick of the legal garbage and I knew I had months left to go yet. "Would it be possible to visit Steve?" I asked. "I really want to see him." I could tell that Adam's first reaction was going to be no, but there must have been something very pitiful in my eyes when he looked in them, because he immediately softened.

"I think we could squeeze it in. Not long, though. I'd like to ask him a few more questions anyway."

I beamed. "Thanks," I said. I brightened and felt much better about whatever else we had to endure. Our day consisted of traveling to the crime scene in the mountains by the river. We settled for a McDonald's drive-through breakfast that we ate in the car. There was nothing there at the clearing when we arrived. I guess I'd imagined it would be staked off with yellow crime scene tape and possibly outlines of the dead bodies painted in the dirt and grass. Instead, it looked as if nothing had occurred there. Forensics had come and gathered what they could and left. Nature had shrugged it off and moved on, save for some lingering blood stains.

My father stood silently nearby, taking it all in. Living the horror through me, his son, and realizing how close he'd come to losing me and Billy. He winced when I talked about Uncle Arty wanting me to suck him off while Whittaker fucked him with his big dick and offering to be his sex slaves if he just wouldn't kill us. Adam took detailed notes, especially as to everything I could remember that Billy or Steve had done or said. He took particular interest in how upset Billy was over the shootings and took a picture of where he had knelt and thrown up. He even took some soil samples of that area. I realized that this field trip wasn't about me. It was about them. I wasn't charged with any crimes related to the sex ring or the shooting of the thugs in the clearing. I was charged with sexually abusing a young boy in Yellowstone. I still wanted to help, of course, but I really wanted to see Steve. I grew impatient, but didn't express it.

Finally, we traveled back to town and after a late lunch at Burger King, we went to the jail. Dad busied himself across the street at a large gun store. I was amused that there would be a gun store across the street from the jail. Convenient for the recently paroled to stock back up, I supposed. Adam and I were escorted to a meeting room with a table and four chairs and nothing else. Soon, Steve was escorted in and un-cuffed. It triggered a bad memory of being led into the interrogation room under the motel. When the door was shut, we looked at Adam for a clue and he smiled. "Go ahead," he said. We hugged and held each other desperately close. We clung to each other in hopes of merging into one inseparable being. At least, that was my hope.

Adam pulled two chairs to the corner for us and then he sat at the table with his laptop. He plugged in ear buds and began typing away. Steve and I sat next to each other and held hands.

"Steve," I softly said, "I miss you. I feel so awful being free while you're stuck in here."

"Don't be stupid," he scoffed. "I'm happy you're out. I want you to stay out. I want you to beat this shit, but I'm so worried you won't. Word's gotten around in here already that we're part of the child sex scandal. They're keeping us separate from the other prisoners, thank God."

"That's good at least. Are you afraid?"

"A little. Maybe more than a little. If we go to hard time, I don't know. They don't treat child sex offenders good in prison. They won't want to hear our side of it. They'll just know we were part of that whole fucked up sex ring, preying on little orphan boys. It won't be pleasant."

I choked on his words. I tried to speak. I tried to give some words of comfort or hope, but nothing came out. I was suddenly scared to death for his survival. I was scared for myself as well. I simply grabbed his hands in mine and squeezed them. We sat there, knee to knee, holding hands and looking desperately into each other's eyes. I know he understood my feelings for him and the pitiful sadness in his eyes broke my heart.

Gathering myself, I said, "Steve, don't give up hope. Adam is really good. If anyone can help you, he can." He smiled a doubtful smile, but he wanted to acknowledge my attempt at being hopeful. There was little left to be said. I shared the events of the past days with Adam in hopes that Steve would see how dedicated he was. I think it helped. I told him about the reporters hounding my Mom and Billy and that angered him as much as it did me.

"Billy is the most innocent one of all. He was just dragged along by me to protect you and he did that. He saved our lives. Without him, more people would have been killed and more boys would have been abused," he said.

"I know."

Adam pulled his ear buds from his ears and closed his laptop. "Time to go," he stated. "Last hug."

We stood and pulled ourselves together. We kissed each other and it immediately grew passionate. I felt him slowly, almost unconsciously, grind against me. I responded with a swelling in my loins and a thrust of my tongue into his mouth. We were about to escalate the embrace and the passion when Adam cleared his throat to remind us we were not alone. I felt a hot blush on my cheeks as we separated. "Have faith that things will work out. Don't give up hope," I told Steve.

"Okay. Thanks Shane. Thank you for coming. It means a lot to me."

"Steve," Adam began, "I need to ask you a few things about Billy. Can you tell me what Billy's motives were for coming with you?"

"He wanted to help Shane. I told him that I was worried about Shane being in trouble and he insisted on coming to help his brother."

"What about the gun? Why did he choose a rifle and not a pistol?"

"I don't know. He said it was his personal gun that he hunts with all the time. Maybe it was the only one he had access to. Why?"

"Just wondering," Adam said.

"When you were at the clearing, did he say anything before he took the shots?"

"Yeah. He was freaked out when he saw the guy with the gun pointed at the FBI guy. We didn't know he was FBI at the time. When he got shot, Billy started to lose it."

"Do you remember anything he said at that time?" Adam asked.

"Yeah, Billy said in a hushed tone, so we wouldn't be discovered, 'What'll I do? What if he points the gun at Shane? I don't want to shoot a person, but what'll I do?'."

"Did you answer him?"

"Of course. I whispered back to him, that he'd have to shoot in order to save Shane and Whittaker, the tall guy. Then when Whittaker dropped down on my asshole father, Arty, and twisted his fucking neck, the gunman reacted and shot Whittaker. After that, Billy sort of went on autopilot, pulling up his gun, taking quick aim and dropping the gunman with one clean shot to the head."

"Wait," Adam said. "Are you saying that Billy wasn't aiming at the gunman until after Whittaker was shot?"

"That's right. Why?" Steve asked.

"Intent. Clearly Billy did not go there with the intent of shooting anyone. He brought his gun because he was asked to without knowing what exactly you would find it useful for, if anything. He did not set out to kill anyone - only to defend if necessary and even that was hard for him to do," Adam explained.

"So that's good?" Steve asked.

"Yes. It is." Adam turned to me and said, "Let's go." I took Steve's hand and we shared one last touch before I followed Adam to the door and then left. It left me melancholy again as it had before to leave him behind. It was so unfair. I smiled a bit as I thought about fairness, because I know Steve would lecture me on how life isn't fair. Outside, Adam asked me and my dad if Billy was a good marksman. "He's the best in our family and most of the county. He's pretty good at everything he does," Dad bragged. "He's won medals and trophies in shooting competitions before. My favorite one was the time he used his rifle instead of a shotgun to win the trap shooting contest at the county fair. He embarrassed more than one self-pronounced marksman that day. He beat everyone else, who were all using shotguns while he used his single shot rifle," Dad bragged.

"What are trap?" Adam asked.

"Clay pigeons that they shoot from a spring loaded device," Dad answered.

"Hmmm, so that's difficult to do?" Adam asked.

"Not for Billy, but yes, that's very hard to do," my dad answered. "You should see the video of it. The other contestants were annoyed and embarrassed."

"I see. Well, I think we should head up to Kalispell tomorrow. I think we've done all we can here and I'm a bit worried about the media," Adam said.

I was relieved and disappointed at the same time. I'd be back home in my own bed and with Billy and Mom, but I'd be far away from Steve and unable to visit again. I sent Whittaker a text asking if he'd been attacked by media yet and let him know I was headed home. He replied that he had not had any media attack him, but that he was out of the hospital and home with his mom. I was happy for that. I wasn't too worried about him and the media if his mom was around. I was sure she would know how to handle the media since she was involved with politics.

We had dinner at the really good diner one last time and Adam asked me another round of mostly the same questions about the details of what happened up in the clearing. I was growing annoyed by the redundancy of it all. I ordered blackberry pie ala mode and wolfed it down. It was delicious.

That night, I lay in bed and contemplated all that had happened since I'd met Steve. My dad was snoring and I couldn't sleep. Finally, I got up and walked down to the lobby. My mind was flooded with random thoughts blasting at the wall of my consciousness. Thoughts from childhood, my school years, family times, my frustrations and fears, my hopes and dreams, happy times and sad times and then the occasional bombshell from the recent past nightmare. I poured me a cup of coffee and looked for the creamer. I can't drink coffee without creamer. I rang the bell on the counter.

A young man close to my age came out of the backroom where I had seen him studying. "Can I help you?" he asked, stifling a yawn.

"I was wondering if you have some creamer for the coffee."

"Umm, sure. Hold on." He walked back into the back and returned with a handful of creamer cups. "Mind getting the basket for me?"

I retrieved the plastic basket meant for the creamers and he filled it.

"Sweet. Thanks." Before turning away, I asked, "What you studying back there?"

"Physics," he replied with little enthusiasm.

"Whoa. Tough."

"Yeah. It sucks," he said.

"It's cool you can study on the job, though," I offered.

"Yeah. That helps out a lot," he agreed.

"Well, thanks," I said.

"You're welcome. By the way, you look familiar. Do you go to Rocky Mountain College by chance?"

"No, I go - umm, went to Montana State," I answered.

I sipped my coffee and we chatted a bit. He asked me why I no longer went to Montana State and I deflected. He left it alone but continued to inject how familiar I looked to him for some reason. I suggested that I just had one of those familiar faces. Finally, we parted and I wished him well in his studies. As I made my way back up to bed, it bothered me that he'd recognized me but I was relieved that he didn't connect it to the news stories and my picture being broadcast with it.

We met Adam for breakfast and he told us that he would be taking us home so he could talk to Billy again and assess the media situation. He said a little impromptu news conference might be useful. "Feed the sharks some scraps and make it clear that's all they're going to get and they sometimes swim off to the next victim."

The idea of facing the media scared me. I was comforted only by the fact that Adam would be at my side. I thought of how smug and proud Jensen had come off in his interview up to the point where he talked about Calvin. Then he was shaken. I worried about what I would say if the topic of me and Steve's relationship came up. I'm not sure what I would say to that. I decided I'd better ask Adam later on.

I had the back seat of Adam's shiny black BMW to myself but there wasn't a lot of leg room. I got a large Diet Coke to go and put it in the cup holder I settled in and we started the drive to Kalispell. Along the way, Adam started priming me for the media conference in case he decided to hold it. I didn't even have to ask my questions because he covered everything I'd thought about and triple that number of things. He mentioned things I never would have ever considered. It was mentally exhausting, and I hoped I could remember everything he wanted me to say and everything he wanted me to not say. I had a hard time concentrating after a while because I was just so tired of talking about it.

"Just keep repeating our message," he said for the twentieth time. "Don't get sucked into answering any inflammatory questions or accusations. Stay on point. Just stick to our message."

"Got it," I assured him for the twenty-first time.

"And what's our message?" he asked again.

"I have no involvement or knowledge of the Boys Home Sex Scandal. I was mistakenly swept up in the hysteria surrounding it because of being college roommates with a former Boys Home resident," I repeated monotonously.

"Good. Just stick to that message over and over. They'll only play it once, but that's the message we want out there."

"Can we stop somewhere? I need to pee," I said. I had a bladder full of Diet Coke and it wanted out in a big way. Besides, there wasn't tons of legroom in the backseat of his Beemer and bending my knees so sharply was cutting off my blood supply. My right leg was going numb.

"There's a small truck stop at the next exit," Dad suggested.

"Great. I'll fill up my tank while Shane drains his," Adam quipped. That was the first attempt at humor I'd heard Adam make. Even though it wasn't all that funny, my dad and I both laughed out loud. Adam was pleased with himself. I supposed his attempts at humor usually failed.

I couldn't exit the car and get to the bathroom fast enough. I also wasn't sure my numb leg would carry me. I had to concentrate with each step and I could tell I was walking with an odd stride. I had no feeling whatsoever in my right foot. I was completely focused on stepping up onto the sidewalk and opening the glass door of the quick mart attached to the truck stop.

I found my way to the bathroom and had to wait for a young cowboy and his little brother to enter before me. The big brother helped the five year old get into the only stall and then he took the only urinal. I leaned against the wall by the solitary sink and willed myself to hold my bladder. There wasn't a partition between the urinal and sink and I could completely see what the young cowboy was doing. I looked away out of politeness. The little cowboy in his polished boots and Wrangler jeans, held up by the leather belt and giant silver buckle, peeked over at me. "You okay mister?" he asked.

"Yeah. I just gotta go pee really bad."

The twelve year old cowpoke was shaking off and staring at me, wide-eyed. "Hey, you're that guy," he said.

"What guy?" I asked.

"That gay guy on the news. The one having sex with the orphan kids."

I felt my intestines tighten and a light sweat break out. "No, no. You're mistaken. That's not me," I lied.

"Yeah it is. I've been watching it. My daddy says they should cut your dick off and let you bleed to death on TV to set an example," he said, making way for me to use the urinal. I stepped up and hurriedly pulled my dick out and a yellow stream burst from my tip the nanosecond it cleared my fly. I let my eyes flutter closed and let out a soft moan in relief. When I opened my eyes, I could see the young cowboy staring at my dick in the mirror while he washed his hands. I shifted my back to obscure his view as much as I could and turned my head to stare him down.

He didn't look away and kept washing his hands over and over. "Can I ask you something?"

"What?" I responded. The kid was making me nervous.

He leaned closer so he could speak softer to prevent his brother from hearing him, "How'dja know that you wuz gay? Like, when you wuz my age, I mean." I looked him in the eye now to judge where he was coming from. He looked sincere, almost pleading. "Why do you want to know?"

He gave a quick shrug of his narrow shoulders and answered, "Cuz, I think I might be. How do I know for sure?"

The last of the processed Diet Coke spurted into the urinal and I milked my udder with a couple of pulls and then shook off. He watched intently as I did this. I couldn't believe his brazenness. I assumed his curiosity trumped his judgment. When I zipped up and replaced him at the sink to wash my hands, I could see the little cowboy's face was flush with both embarrassment and anxiety. He was in uncomfortable territory but seemed determined to take full advantage of the opportunity before him. There was no sense denying who I was, he clearly knew for sure or he wouldn't have been so bold.

"You're right that I'm gay, I'll admit it. I'm not sure I'm a good one to answer your question, though. I kind of figured out I was gay sometime in high school, but I fought against it and denied it for a long time. I wish I had accepted it earlier but that was just too hard for me to do.

I can't really give you advice on how to know. I guess it's different for everybody. You just have to figure it out. Why do you think you might be?"

"Well, I got some friends who are girls but I'm not really into them like, in a sexy way, you know? My best friend, Nick - he, well, I mean he and I, we both got asked to the Sadie Hawkins dance at school and we were both kind of like super nervous about going, you know? So, well, we kinda decided we should like practice dancing so we wouldn't look totally stupe, you know? So we did it at his house after school when no one was home."

"Okay, and?"

He paused and looked at the stall his little brother was in. Then he lowered his voice even more. "First we did some fast songs, and like told each other when we looked good or if we looked stupe. That was easy. Then Nick said something like we'd better try a slow one. I was all nervous, but I agreed, you know?"

I smiled understandingly and said, "Go on."

"Well, he said I had to pretend to be the girl cuz he wasn't gonna. So we stepped in close and I like put my hands on his shoulders and he like put his hands on my waist and we started like swaying to a slow song he played on his iPad. Then he said we looked kind of like the nerds. We could see ourselves in his bedroom closet doors that are like mirrors. He said the cool kids got closer together and said we better try it." He glanced again at the stall his little brother was in.

"So did you?"

"Yep. We did. I put my arms over his arms and he pulled me in against his body and wrapped his arms around my waist. We had our feet between each other's feet. We started swaying and stepping and it was awkward like at first and then we kind of got in a rhythm and then ..."

"Then, what?"

"Well, I started really liking it, you know? We just had shorts on and being close like that and swaying together and all, well, my cheek brushed against his and I sort of like put my lips against his neck. Like it just happened, you know, and I started getting - you know." He pointed at his dick and then made his finger bob up to imitate a stiffy.

"I see." I smiled understandingly at his embarrassment and legitimate concern. "Did he notice?"

"Yep. He like pushed me away and said that was enough. I agreed and it was all awkward like neither of us knew what to say and stuff. We turned off the music and went out back to shoot some hoops."

"Did you ever talk about it after that?" I asked.

"No. Oh my crap, no way. We talked about the dance a little like what to wear and stuff and then talked about how cool the dance was afterwards. He became his girl's bf. They hang out a lot together now. He said she touched him down there once. We're still friends and all, me and Nick, I mean, but it's a little awkward kind of, now, you know?"

I heard the toilet flush in the stall and two small boots dropped to the tile floor. "Hey, Sammy," the older brother called, "Stay in there a minute. I need to talk to a guy out here."

"Why? I'm done," the little voice spoke.

"Because I said to. Just stay in there. I mean it, okay," the cowboy kid said sternly.

"Oh geez," came the small reply.

Then his older brother whispered to me. "If I give you my number, will you call me? Please? I need someone to talk with who knows stuff like you. I'm scared. I ain't got nobody to talk to about this stuff. My dad would cut my dick off if he found out what I did with Nick." He looked on the verge of tears. My better judgment screamed NO, but my soft heart agreed. I couldn't just leave him hanging and so scared. I typed his digits into my phone and I smiled when he gave me his name to go with it, Colt Withers.

"I'm sorry for peeking at you before. I just never saw a grown-ups before. Are you mad?"

"I'm not mad. It's okay, really, but you and your brother better be going now." I looked over and saw a small pair of dark eyes peering under the grey metal panel. "Hey!" I said with a wink.

His brother looked back over his shoulder and scolded, "Sammy, I said to stay in there!"

"Geez. I did stay in here," he answered.

"I meant not to go peeking out," his brother growled.

"Well geez. You didn't say that. You said not to come out and I didn't."

The older cowpoke shook his head and said, "Whatever. Come on now. Let's go."

The little brother had to wash his hands while I busied myself tucking in my shirt. "Hey Colt," I said.

"Yeah?" he asked, glancing hard at his little brother's back to warn me to be careful what I said. I nodded understanding.

"Don't believe everything you see on the TV news, all right? None of what they are saying is true about that guy who looks like me."

He smiled. "Good. I won't."

The boys opened the door and the little one looked at me and waved. "See ya, mister," he said. I smiled and waved back as his brother pushed him along.

"There you guys are," an adult male voice spoke. "I thought you might'a fallen in."

"Daaad!" the little one said. "I don't do that anymore."

I looked up to get a glance of the cowboys' father and was horrified at the sight. He was six foot two or three inches tall, completely bald, very buff and wearing a County Sherriff's uniform. He had shiny, patent leather boots and a shiny black leather holster to match. The grip of a sizable hand gun protruded ominously from the top of it. I was more afraid of the long, black, metal nightstick dangling from his other hip, however. Death by a bullet would be much too merciful for me if either little cowpoke spilled the beans about what just happened between me and his older son. I wasn't sure the little guy had even paid any attention or heard what we'd talked about but if he had and spilled it, me and his brother could end up dickless.

I quickly finished tying up my sweats and peered out of the bathroom door just as someone else jerked on the handle to enter. I nearly fell flat on my face and might have if the gentleman hadn't caught me. "Sorry. You okay?"

"Yeah," I assured him. "Fine."

I thought how not fine I really was as I quickly thanked him for breaking my fall and excused myself. I watched between racks of junk food as the two cowpokes and their law enforcing father walked across the parking lot. "Don't turn around," I thought. "Please just get in your white Expedition, with the fancy lights on top and the sawed off shotgun between the front seats, and drive away."

###

I suppose I should stop predicting how close I am to finishing this story. I should also learn not to disagree with my editors when they tell me I can't cram all I want to into one final chapter. I hope you don't mind that it carries on for a few more while I wrap it up. I love writing it for you. Hope you still enjoy reading it. Hans h.schreiber@hushmail.com