Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“Here are some words for you, Tate. Internalized homophobia.” The confusion on Tate’s face told Liam what he already knew—it wasn’t a concept with which the other man was familiar. “Now get the hell out of my apartment and go look it up.” His chest heaved as he breathed as though he’d just run through a grueling rehearsal.
Instead of leaving, Tate said, “I’m not lucky like you, Luxe.”
“Don’t call me that.”
He winced. “You’ve never had to live with this fear. You’ve never seen the viciousness of hateful people like I have. You have no idea how cruel life can be.”
Laughing an ugly sound, Liam said, “You don’t know a goddamn thing about what I’ve seen and lived with, Tate. You want to talk fear? You want to talk hate? How about this? When I was fifteen years old, I joined a traveling dance company for the summer. I spent those months performing at state fairs all over the country. Or I did until I came to Swan, Oklahoma. After our performance at the state fair not two miles up the damn road, I was jumped by some bigot who got his rocks off beating on the little fairy dancer kid.”
Tate gasped and stumbled back until he bumped the door. “No,” he whispered, face like he’d seen a ghost. “You’re… him?”
“Him? You heard about that? Yeah, I’m him. They broke my shoulder and busted my ribs. I was covered in deep, painful bruises. I couldn’t dance for months. You have no idea how hard it was to get back to where I was in time for college auditions. You have no idea how much therapy it took to make the nightmares go away. So don’t you dare tell me I don’t know fear, and I don’t know hatred.” He jabbed a finger into his own chest, practically hyperventilating as he finished screaming the words at Tate.
“Why?” Tate whispered.
Liam knew exactly what he was asking. “I’m here to prove to myself and the fucking world that I am stronger than the hatred. I am here to show these backward assholes that anyone who wants to dance deserves to, regardless of their gender, ethnicity, or sexuality. And fuck anyone who gets in my way.”
Tate’s big body was shaking as he turned. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, scrambling to open the door. “I can’t. It’s too much. I’m sorry.” He bolted outside. His footsteps pounding down the stairs faded as the door slammed closed behind him.
Liam stood there, shoulders slumped, breathing hard as regret washed over him. “Shit,” he whispered, then ran to the door, but when he reached it, he couldn’t get himself to open it. Instead, he rested his forearms against the wood and screamed at the top of his lungs.
Memories of the pain and fear bombarded him from all angles. The frustration of fighting an uphill battle to regain his dance skills. The shock and disappointment of his family and friends when he told them where he wanted to move.
He turned until his back met the wall, then slid down. When he hit the floor, he tugged his knees into his chest, wincing as the abraded skin stretched.
He’d handled that so poorly. Screamed at the man who was only trying to prevent himself from meeting the same fate Liam had. It was then he realized something that had him burying his face against his knees and sobbing.
He was the only person in the world who knew Tate’s secret. The only person Tate trusted to know him without judgment. And he’d just thrown everything Tate told him back in his face as though it didn’t matter.
It mattered.
Tate mattered to him.
Maybe more than anyone else.
Why did that make the pain in his chest hurt so much more than the pain in his knees?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I-N-T-E-R-N-A-L-I-Z-E-D H-O-M-O-P-H-O-B-I-A
It took two days, but Tate finally worked up the courage to type into a computer at his office the twenty-two characters Liam had shouted at him. That was, of course, after ensuring he could erase the search history and checking that no one else was in the building.
Now, he just had to press enter and see what the internet gods had to teach him.
Instead of depressing that one little key, he sat there paralyzed, replaying the pitying expression on Liam’s face as he’d hurled his anger Tate’s way. His very justified anger.
He missed Liam. He’d never missed anyone before, and it wasn’t a pleasant sensation. A heaviness had moved, making everything he’d done over the past few days take a monumental amount of effort. He felt weighted down from the inside out, and nothing provided relief. Not cigarettes, booze, or working out at the makeshift gym a few guys set up at the trailer park.
Nothing.
The number of times he’d thought of Liam, started to text him, and nearly driven to his place in the past forty-eight hours bordered on pathetic. He didn’t deserve to be around Liam until he figured out some of his shit. Disgust with himself kept him from following through on his attempts to contact Liam.