“Dad!” Dalton cried. “Fuck!”

  Lucas leapt to his feet and fled from the patio.

  “Lucas, wait!” Dalton shouted and raced after him to the front foyer.

  “Dalton! Get back in here now!”

  Now the tears were coming. “Get back there,” Lucas hissed. He began to shiver, unable to believe everything that had just happened. He looked up into Dalton’s beautiful almond-shaped eyes, feeling as if the world had come to an end.

  “I’m not,” Dalton said firmly.

  “Yes,” Lucas replied. “Because, my God. He’s right! What kind of life can I give you? You have everything here. But with me? You have my tight little grapefruit ass.” Tears rolled down his cheeks, hot and wet.

  “I have love with you, Lucas.”

  “You’ll find someone else. Easy. One week at Rolla and you’ll have the women lining up.” With that he ran out the front door and down the walkway that led to the house and then turned right and followed the sidewalk into the night.

  He never got any German chocolate cake.

  12

  LUCAS WEPT on his mother’s shoulder, in her arms, as he hadn’t since he was a child.

  Over. He couldn’t believe it was over. He’d waited all his life for Dalton, and now, God, how much the world had changed in one evening.

  The noises she made as she held him were comforting. Not shushing, not telling him to stop, just a mother’s lies to let him know all would be right in the world.

  This was the third time he’d burst into tears since he’d gotten home, sweaty, out of breath, his side an agony of pain—he’d run nearly all the way. She’d made him chamomile tea between the second and third bouts, with lots of honey, during assurances that he didn’t know that it was all over. That anything could happen.

  And then, somehow, she was right.

  The doorbell rang.

  Lucas jerked, pulled back, looked out the kitchen door and down the hall. “Huh?” Who?

  Then, before even his mother could get up, the door opened. “Lucas?”

  “Dalton?” he cried, heart leaping.

  He jumped up, kitchen chair flying back, and then Dalton was in the room and sweeping him into his arms, covering his face with kisses.

  Lucas tried to object, tried to say what he should say—What are you doing here? You need to get back!—but the relief was so immense, and he was in Dalton’s arms, and Dalton was kissing him, and Lucas could only kiss him back.

  But even in the midst of passion, his cooler head finally prevailed—that and his mother clearing her throat loudly—and he pulled back and said, “Dalton! What are you doing here? Did you hear what your father said? He means it. He’ll disinherit you.”

  “I snuck out, baby,” he said.

  “God, Dalton! Don’t think he hasn’t noticed. You’ve got to go back.”

  Dalton shook his head. “Oh, my little tiger, he’s out like a light. He hit the scotch and hit it hard after you left and staggered off to bed drunker than I’ve ever seen him. I had to get over here. I ran all the way.” Which explained the sweat.

  Lucas knew all about running all the way. Thankfully Terra’s Gate wasn’t that big a town and nothing was that far a drive from anything else—but with drive being the operative word. Running all the way had exhausted Lucas. That and crying his heart out.

  “I just couldn’t let things lie the way they were. I had to see you. Lucas… I love you so much. I’m willing to lose everything. Tell me. Give me the word and I’ll tell him to fuck off.”

  God… it sounded wonderful. But then…. “No. You’ve got to go back.” Because he had to. This was Dalton’s whole life. And that did matter to Lucas. “And you go to Rolla,” he said and felt his heart break.

  Dalton shook his head. “No.”

  “Yes,” Lucas insisted.

  “At least for the first year,” Lucas’s mother said, surprising them both. Lucas had almost forgotten she was there. They turned to her just as she said, “In a year Lucas will be eighteen. And to tell the truth, that will make me feel better. For all the mother reasons.” She nodded. “And if that bastard of a father of yours has a fit, then let him. But don’t give him any legal ammunition. We can also check with the bank when your father isn’t aware of what’s going on. See if he really can touch your nana’s trust fund.”

  There was a long pause as they digested her words and tried to sort their swirling emotions.

  And then they began to talk. They kept it short to make sure Dalton’s father didn’t find out Dalton had left the house. They came up with a plan.

  It wouldn’t be easy.

  But it was better than the alternative.

  Then Lucas’s mother drove Dalton home—both insisting Lucas stay at home.

  When she got back, she held him again.

  “That young man loves you so much,” she said. Then she was crying with her son. “And it’s going to work, baby. It’s going to work. I know a year seems a long time, but years and years from now when you look back, you will know it was worth it.”

  “Are you s-sure?” Lucas asked through tear-filled eyes.

  “Of course, baby. In the end, love always wins.”

  2004

  1

  LUCAS’S FINAL year of high school—the supposed best year of a person’s life—wasn’t easy, nor would he ever consider it his best. Or at least he hoped not. First and foremost, he ached for Dalton, who was a couple hundred miles away. Sometimes it felt as if an ice pick were being twisted around deep in his chest. It made it hard to concentrate on his schoolwork, hard to sleep, hard even to pay attention to an episode of Will & Grace.

  They were able to get away with all the emails they wanted. There was no way Mr. Churchill could check Dalton’s computer or chaperone Dalton’s online activity two hundred miles away. Right? He couldn’t access Dalton’s school email address. Could he? And the man had money, but surely he wouldn’t hire a private investigator or anything crazy like that (and Lucas had imagined some crazy things). No, Mr. High and Mighty would trust that his son would do whatever he commanded.

  Lucas often thought those emails were the only thing keeping him from going crazy.

  That and his mother once again saved the day. Several times over 2003 and into the next year, she drove them down to Rolla, and while he and Dalton weren’t able to make love, they did spend wondrous time together—gazing at each other over shared sodas at an ice cream parlor near Dalton’s school (Lucas’s mother sat reading Beachcomber across the room), holding hands during a movie, or going for walks. Lucas found it particularly exciting how little anyone cared that the two of them were together. In fact, Lucas delighted in meeting Dalton’s friends, gay and straight alike. He also didn’t mind that Dalton’s gay friends were either coupled or not at all Dalton’s type. He couldn’t help a little jealousy. Those gay men got to see Dalton anytime they wanted.

  Lucas’s mother also kept another promise, which turned out to be a bright and shining element in the darkness of their exile from each other. They went to a lawyer. And because Dalton was legally an adult, there wasn’t anything his father could do about it.

  It turned out the man, a Jerry Drake, didn’t like Richard Churchill one bit. And he let it be known that Dalton’s nana had been clever.

  “He can prevent you from getting your trust until you’re thirty, but after that he—cannot. And if he so much as tries, then his trust will go to the Kansas City Home for Wayward Felines. Here’s the thing you’ll be glad to know. It’s a lot of money. Both funds. Mr. Churchill is a vengeful man, and while he’s very financially comfortable, he’s not going to want that much money getting away from him—especially to a bunch of cats.”

  It wasn’t until after the relief of finding out that Dalton’s father couldn’t—or in all likelihood wouldn’t—ultimately prevent Dalton from getting his trust fund that the words “that much money” sank in.

  “Just how much is it?” Lucas’s mother asked.

  They were all quite surprised at the figure. “Goodness, Dalton. That would pay for all of your schooling and pay a substantial down payment on a house.”

  “And more,” said Drake.

  Dalton had been thrilled, even though for the next twelve years he was possibly blocked from getting the money that would solve almost everything. Because Nana had known her son well—and not cared for the man he’d turned into.

  Dalton’s father hated cats with a blue-blooded passion.

  And so Lucas got through that year. At first his grades suffered. The pain of not having Dalton a touch away was hard. But two things turned that around.

  First he took the pain and sexual frustration and anger at Mr. Churchill and redirected that energy into studying. Then the Supreme Court of Massachusetts ruled the state’s ban on same-sex marriage was unconstitutional, just as 2003 ended, which only fired him up all the more. If Massachusetts allowed gays to get married, then he and Dalton could move! It would mean they could really get married and not have to worry about rites like Holy Unions. He graduated with a 4.98 average and was class salutatorian.

  During that time, Dalton had come down for Lucas’s birthday with a group of friends, and after a small party and cake—and afterward, dinner with just the two of them and Lucas’s mother—Dalton asked her if he could please, now and finally, take her son away with him for the night. Blushing, she gave her blessing.

  They went to a nice hotel this time.

  And they made love well into the night.

  This time Lucas didn’t object to Dalton’s desire that they top each other. It was a symbol that they were at last together.

  The only thing that prevented their night from being perfect was that when Lucas brought up the possibility that they could go to Massachusetts to get married, Dalton balked at the idea.

  “I want us to be legal everywhere, Lucas. Not just in one state. It doesn’t matter if it’s Massachusetts or Alaska. It needs to be all states. It’s just not real to me otherwise. Please. Why is a piece of paper so important to you?”

  Lucas pulled a sheet up to cover himself. He didn’t know why, but Dalton’s apparent decree against them getting married made him feel funny. Exposed. Wrong somehow. As if what he wanted was wrong. He’d never worried that what he had with Dalton was a sin, but now he was feeling something bad. He just wasn’t sure what it was.

  He couldn’t even look Dalton in the eyes.

  “I love you, Dalton. And I want what I’ve always wanted. I want what everyone should be able to have. I want you to be my husband.”

  Dalton snuggled close, reached out with a gentle hand, and turned Lucas’s cheek so they were seeing each other. “Oh, tiger. We are married. In the way that counts. I feel that. Don’t you? I have for a while. But tonight? I couldn’t feel it more.”

  That nickname! Dalton rarely used it, but it got him every time when he did.

  “You’re inside me right now, Lucas. I am inside you. There’s no one for me except you.”

  “There’s no one for me except you, Dalton.” And Lucas’s heart surged and ached at the same time.

  “I don’t need a piece of paper, Lucas,” Dalton said. “I am yours forever.”

  “You promise?” Lucas asked, felt the ache even deeper—even as his heart soared even higher.

  “I do. See? I’m saying it. I do. Do you take me, Lucas?”

  Lucas’s eyes filled with tears, and he nodded, allowing himself to push away the hurt and embrace the joy.

  2

  BUT WHAT really made his soul soar was when Dalton took him to Lucas’s senior prom. When they arrived, Lucas was quite nervous, especially with what Dalton had done earlier that day. Lucas had been a wreck, sure that something ugly would happen. Thankfully that wasn’t the case, and Dalton had arrived looking dazzling in his tux.

  “You got it!” Lucas exclaimed.

  “I knew I would. I know the runnings and the schedule of that house as clearly as I know”—he leaned in close—“the shape of your beautiful little butt.”

  Lucas had blushed at that. But he’d had another physical reaction as well. It had delighted Dalton.

  “After prom, tiger,” Dalton whispered.

  The class for the most part embraced them. There was even clapping when the two of them took to the floor and danced to Shania Twain’s “Forever And For Always.” It was corny, but with its lyrics all about keeping each other and waking up together for all their days, it was enough to make Lucas feel as if he were dancing a foot off the ground.

  It was what he had wanted for always.

  A perfect evening—until they met Mr. Churchill in the parking lot.

  He was leaning against Dalton’s car, arms crossed, the look on his face—well, indescribable. There was just so much there. Anger for sure. Lucas thought he could see hatred, determination. More. So much more.

  Assurance. That was what it was, Lucas thought.

  Triumph.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” Mr. Churchill asked, his voice like stones.

  Lucas tried to pull his hand from Dalton’s, but his lover held firmly to his.

  “I’m not surprised,” Dalton said, his voice matching his father’s, stone for stone. “Who was your spy?”

  Mr. Churchill raised an eyebrow. “Spy?”

  “Was it the principal? One of the chaperones?”

  “Does it make any difference?” Mr. Churchill’s eyes flashed. “Maybe I just drove down to see if your car was here.”

  “Whatever,” Dalton said. “Now, what do you want?”

  Mr. Churchill stood up straight. Dropped his arms to his sides, his hands now fists.

  Dalton let go of Lucas and stepped half in front of him, his own hands curled into fists.

  “I am here to tell you that you are no longer my son. I am no longer paying for your college, and it will be twelve years before you get one cent of your trust fund.”

  Which meant that the lawyer Jerry Drake was right. Mr. Churchill didn’t want to fuck with his own money.

  Dalton let out a huff of a laugh. “That’s okay, Mr. Churchill,” he said.

  He didn’t say Father, Lucas heard immediately. Nor Dad. And Lucas didn’t know whether to be sad or not. He’d longed all his life to know his own father. Now Dalton was rejecting his right before his eyes.

  “Oh, it’s ‘okay,’ is it?” Mr. Churchill asked, eyes now blazing. He raised his fists, not quite before him, and took a step.

  “Who’s this old fuck?” came a voice, and to Lucas’s surprise, it was Gabe, one of the stars of the football team. Gabe was a big guy, muscular and tall and broad-shouldered. He stepped up so that he too stood in front of Lucas.

  “It’s Dalton’s old man,” said John Sanchez, another member of the football team. He joined Dalton at his other side.

  Within minutes several more of Lucas’s fellow students, including a few girls, had joined them. Lucas’s skin tingled in surprise. What the hell was going on?

  “Yes,” Dalton said, voice like steel. “Everything is just fine.”

  Mr. Churchill seemed suddenly unsure.

  “You know you’re not coming back to the house,” he said, his voice not as strong as before.

  “I don’t need to,” Dalton stated. “I cleaned out my closet and most of my stuff while you were at work today and Mom was at one of her meetings. I guess maybe that’s how you knew something was up.”

  Mr. Churchill stood taller and puffed out his chest. From the chuckles, Lucas didn’t think he was fooling anyone. “So what do you think is up, Dalton?”

  “I’m not coming home,” he said, then stepped back and took Lucas’s hand again.

  Gabe stepped to the side, but it was also clear he wasn’t going anywhere.

  “I’ve made a choice. I’ve chosen Lucas.”

  Mr. Churchill gave a barely discernable tremble before regaining his composure. He clenched his jaw, and his brows turned into one single slash. “You’ve chosen this little faggot over me?”

  Dalton put his arm around Lucas’s shoulders, pulled him close. Lucas didn’t know what to do. Part of him wanted to turn and run, part to ask Dalton one more time if this was really what he wanted to do, and part wanted to melt against his man. He chose the last, and his heart surged with love.

  “Yes. I’ve chosen the little faggot.”

  Another little tremble. Barely suppressed rage. His fists clenched and unclenched at his side. Lucas was sure that if it weren’t for their companions, also known as witnesses, Dalton’s father wouldn’t be holding back.

  “How… can… you?” Mr. Churchill said through gritted teeth.

  “Because I’m a faggot too,” Dalton said, stunning Lucas out of any ability to do more than lean against his lover.

  The look of shock on Mr. Churchill’s face would have been comical had the situation not been so sad. Dalton having to pick….

  “And you?” growled Mr. Churchill, waving at the crowd around Dalton and Lucas. More people were joining. “What do you all think about this? These two?”

  “I’m a faggot too,” Gabe said.

  Lucas had to fight to keep his mouth from falling open. Gabe? Gay?

  “Yeah,” said Jack. “Me too!”

  Two girls stepped up, abandoning their dates. They grabbed each other’s hands and raised them high. “And we’re dykes,” said one of them, and the second agreed.

  Lucas smiled. He saw it now, saw it as one student after another joined him, mocking Mr. Churchill, each saying they were a homo or a cocksucker or a muff diver. It was like something right out of that movie To Wong Foo. Lucas’s smile spread even wider. Bliss.

  “What are you smiling at, you little fairy?” Mr. Churchill snarled.

  “Something faggy,” Lucas said. And laughed. God, suddenly this man who had seemed so scary now just seemed pathetic.

  He looked up at Dalton, who was looking back at him. And then bending to kiss him.