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they weren’t… weren’t….”
    “Weren’t what you wanted.” O h G od. Aunt Lyndie knew. He
    should have known she’d get it.
    Brian swallowed thickly. “Yeah.”
    Lyndie smiled and patted his hand. “Well, if it makes you
    happy, I’m okay with the gay thing—you should know that. I’m
    happy you found that out for yourself, and I’m real y glad it’s not a
    problem,” she said sincerely, and took another sip of her tea.
    “That’s all?”
    Lyndie shrugged. “Brian, baby, I’ve raised you since you were
    a rug rat. You think something like that is going to matter?” Her
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    lower lip thrust out and grew pouty. “I thought I taught you better
    than that.”
    Brian smiled shyly at her. “You taught me awesome, Aunt
    Lyndie.” He shrugged and told her the truth. “Honestly? I’m just
    glad you believe me—because that’s sort of my problem.”
    Ah G od, but it felt good to spil out the whole thing to her. It felt
    good to sit in the kitchen where she’d helped him with his first times
    tables and helped him write his first words, and set out this newer,
    trickier problem and ask for her help to unravel it. How could he
    have done this without her? He thought of Tate and his father’s ugly
    word ringing through the phone lines, and his heart bled a little.
    Tate needed this. Tate needed to come here more often and spend
    time with Lyndie and see more of her pretty, pretty art. He needed
    to know that Brian wasn’t the only person on the planet who could
    look out for him. Whether or not Tate loved Brian back, Brian
    needed to bring him here again, and let him know that
    unconditional acceptance was not a myth.
    He finished the story, and saw that Lyndie’s wide, smiling
    mouth was pursed and grim.
    “O h, Brian. Baby—poor Tate. This thing he’s doing. That’s a
    bad thing.”
    Brian nodded, relieved. It wasn’t just him and his innocence. “It
    is for him,” Brian said softly. Tate, who was so vulnerable. There
    were some guys out there who could probably do this for kicks—but
    not Tate. Tate was doing this because he needed… needed so
    badly and so completely that he was wil ing to give away pieces of
    himself to get what he needed.
    “This….” Lyndsey took a drink of her tea and looked at him
    again. “This is a self-hating sort of thing—at least if this kid is like you’ve told me. That doesn’t seem like your roommate, you know? I
    mean….” She sighed and searched for words. “He seemed fragile,
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    when you came for Christmas. He did—I didn’t say anything
    because I thought you already saw it. But he didn’t seem like this.
    What am I missing here? What did you leave out?”
    Brian flushed and looked away. He’d known it might come to
    this when he first cal ed her up.
    “The thing is,” he said, swal owing, “that it’s not really my story
    to tell. But… but Tate won’t tel it.” At least not the way he should
    tell it. “Tate keeps saying that he wanted it to happen, that he was
    in control… but… you know, I’ve heard girls talk, and… what
    happened to him wasn’t right. And he won’t admit it. He….” Brian’s
    eyes went hot, and his throat swel ed tightly, and he could hardly
    look at Aunt Lyndie. “He keeps saying it was his fault, and it
    wasn’t.”
    Lyndie took a deep breath and let it out in careful shivers.
    “O kay, baby. You’ve got to tel me what happened. You’ve got to.
    E ven if he’s okay with it, you’re not. This is hurting you—that makes
    it your story to tel , okay? You go ahead and tel me, okay?”
    Brian nodded and wiped his eyes and his aunt gave him a
    paper napkin and that helped. He hoped he wouldn’t have to wear
    eye makeup like Tate, he thought dismally, because he had a
    feeling that before this day was over, he’d be crying some more.

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    P a rt V I
    I Should Have Been Brave

    TWO days after that last disastrous party (the one with