Don't Let Me Go. J.H. Trumble

walked over to where the other kids were dancing and he pulled me to him. We danced, holding each other, experiencing each other all over again. After a while, he pressed his mouth to my ear. “I love you, Nate.”

      Before I could respond, Juliet had me by the arm, dragging me back to the kitchen to mix up another batch of margaritas. He watched me go with a combination of frustration and longing.

      “Are you having fun?” she asked, unscrewing the cap on the margarita mix.

      “Yeah.”

      “Adam looks tired.”

      “He better be.”

      “Stop!” she whined, shoving a stack of plastic cups in my chest. “Now you are flaunting it.”

      I laughed a little and separated the cups and set them out while she poured the mix then filled the blender with crushed ice from the freezer door. “I can’t help it, Jules. I’m in love with him.”

      She seated the blender jar onto the base and looked at me, her face a question I understood perfectly.

      “I’d be declaring myself right now if you hadn’t interrupted.”

      “Really? Well, what the hell are standing in here for. Go! Finish the job. Tell him.”

      I laughed. “In a minute.” I pressed the button for her and the blender crunched, then whirred, drowning out any possibility of conversation for a minute.

      “Are you still here?” she said when the ice was crushed and smooth.

      I removed the jar and poured. “I’m going to get him all liquored up so I can have my way with him.”

      “Like you need alcohol for that.”

      I started to make some clever remark, but loud voices in the living room stopped me. “Nah, man. We just came to party.”

      “What the hell?” Juliet said.

      We hurried back to the living room. In the entryway, Juliet’s dad was holding his ground against three boys. They pressed up against him, chests puffed out in some primal display. I recognized Andrew Cargill immediately. The two others I knew only as troublemakers. Juliet’s mom hung back, clutching a phone in her hand.

      “Leave now or I’ll call the police,” her dad threatened in a voice that commanded a lot more respect than his slender, pale, and freckled frame. He was hardly a match for the three thugs looming over him. Still, he blocked their passage, his jaw clenched, and he wasn’t moving.

      “Aaah, come on,” Cargill slurred, “we just want to party with our faggy friends here.” He locked eyes with me.

      I stood next to Juliet and felt the temperature rise in my veins. Adam, Mike, and a couple of the other guys Adam knew from theater arts—Warren Calicutt and Traveon Smith—positioned themselves behind Juliet’s dad. I joined them. Cargill took it all in, then seemed to reconsider. He let loose a string of homophic slurs, then backed out the doorway with his little band of thugs. Mr. Ratliff calmly closed the door and locked it.

      After that, we all needed a little tequila. The drinks were melting on the kitchen counter, and any guilt I might have felt about the alcohol—Mr. Ratliff would not have been happy—was forgotten. Adam leaned against the edge of the counter and handed me a drink. My hand trembled slightly as I took it. He wrapped his fingers around mine for a moment, then he picked up the tequila bottle and topped off my cup. I looked at him.

      “I’m the designated driver tonight.”

      “What is it with those creeps?”

      He shook his head and pulled me close. “Don’t worry about them.”

      I leaned against him, enjoying the feel of my body pressing against his in all the right places. I drank half my margarita, set my cup on the counter, and put my mouth close to his ear. “Do you think anyone would notice if we disappeared for a while?”

      “Do you care?” he asked, grinning.

      Not even a little bit.

      We left the chatter, and the laughter, and the music behind and locked ourselves in Juliet’s room. My pulse still raced, but for another reason altogether.

      It was close to midnight when we slipped back into the living room. Juliet was passing out hats and horns and poppers that shot out long paper streamers. “Did you bring the sparklers?” she asked Adam.

      “Yeah. I left them in my car.” He gave me a quick kiss on the neck and fished his car keys out of his pocket. “I’ll be right back.”

      Juliet watched him go, then looked back at me. She drew in a deep breath, then let it out in a loud sigh, shaking her head slowly back and forth.

      “What?” I asked.

      She raised her eyebrows. “Enjoy my room?”

      I blushed. “You saw that?”

      “You’re not exactly stealth.”

      Adam had been gone too long. I expected to see him immediately when I stepped out onto the front porch, but I didn’t, even though his car was parked in front under a street lamp. I walked toward it. “Adam?” The car interior was dark, but I peered in through the window anyway. Nothing. A prickly sensation crept up the back of my neck.

      “Umph.”

      What the hell? The noise had come from the backyard. I started toward the side of the house. “Adam?” Another “Umph,” and I broke into a run, icy fear closing around my heart, blood pounding in my ears, my fingers tingling from the adrenaline screaming through my veins.

      The gate was slightly ajar. There were voices now, low but menacing. Another grunt.

      Adam.

      I burst through the gate and into the backyard.

      Chapter 9

      It was after midnight when Adam Skyped. I’d fallen asleep with my head on my arm. I wiped the drool on my shirt and clicked the Answer with Video button. Adam’s face appeared on the screen. He looked tired and disheveled. It had been less than twenty-four hours, but already I missed him so much it physically hurt. I grimaced a smile. “Hi.”

      He smiled back, then raised his eyes to his webcam so he was looking directly at me through the camera.

      It sounded like a party in the background. I lowered the volume, then changed my mind and raised it again.

      “I’m sorry it’s so late,” Adam said.

      I checked the time in the lower corner of my screen: twelve thirty. That meant it was one thirty in New York. I’d been sitting at my desk since seven—five and a half hours. I shifted around to get the blood flowing.

      As if answering my unspoken question, he went on: “We dropped my things at the apartment after the cast meeting, then dinner, then back to the director’s apartment for drinks. It’s been crazy.”

      “I’ve been waiting for you.”

      “I know, baby. I’m sorry. My phone died.”

      “Couldn’t you have borrowed one?”

      He bit his lip and that crease formed between his brows again. Before he could respond, a shirtless guy slipped an arm around Adam’s shoulder and leaned close to the screen. “Is this your boyfriend? Hi, boyfriend.” He waggled his fingers at me, then picked up a drink I hadn’t noticed on the desk next to Adam and took a sip. “Come on, baby,” he said to Adam and tugged at his arm.

      On the screen, I watched Adam laugh and push shirtless guy away.

      My skin prickled.

      Adam turned back to the screen and said, “Ignore him,” still smiling.

      I was not smiling. “Who’s that?”