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  Dylan looked down at the plate. It did look good. It would be rude to Rosa to not eat it. He felt like anything he put in his mouth would taste like ash. He adjusted his chair before picking up his fork. He’d eat enough to be polite. If he knew the staff, they had already boxed up plenty more for him to take back to the apartment with him. Hopefully getting away from his parents would make the midnight snack version more palatable.

  The three of them ate in silence for a few minutes except for the clinking of metal to porcelain. Dylan shuffled more of the food around his plate than he put in his mouth.

  “What are your plans for your birthday?” Peter asked. “Doing something fun with your friends?”

  “I told Jordan I would go see their show at the Rose Room. It’s their last show before Heath goes on tour with Harley Unger.”

  “You’re not eating,” Martha noted. “Is something wrong? Have you gone vegan since our last dinner together? The rice and beans should still be okay.”

  “No, I am not vegan,” Dylan scoffed.

  “Is this about the car? I already said, we can return if you don’t want to accept it,” Peter chimed in.

  Dylan set the fork down. “Yes, I’m mad about the car. You’re treating me like a child. It wasn’t a pressing matter. I was waiting until I found something I wanted. I’ve done everything you asked since I came home. I have a job. I’m paying my own way without extra money from my trust fund.” He gave each of his parents pointed looks. “I am sorry I had to take up time from the security team, but that wasn’t my fault.”

  “Dylan, you’re our son,” Peter reminded him. “The security team is here for you as much as for your mom and I, or the property.”

  “Do you think we’re upset because you were back at the house for a few weeks while this whole secret album thing blew over?” Martha asked. “Dylan, this is your home.”

  “Really? It certainly doesn’t feel like it. It’s been more of a prison.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. He laid it on the table. “I’m already constantly tracked using this thing. Now the car? I learned to live with the constant cameras, including my goddamn bedroom. Which, having lived a semi-normal life now dawns on me as being incredibly inappropriate and rather disturbing.”

  “There are rules in place for the bedroom cameras and always have been,” Martha reminded him. “Your Father and I have one in our bedroom too.”

  Dylan sighed. “I have literally never lived a day in my life without being tracked.”

  “We don’t track you, Dylan,” Peter argued. “We watch over you.”

  “With literal tracking devices.” He pushed the phone toward them.

  “You don’t have to carry the phone,” Martha reminded him.

  “That isn’t true, is it? You let me be dependent on the phone for communication. Calling for rides for example. Be honest about the car. It has a lojack on it, doesn’t it?”

  “It...does.” Peter nodded.

  “Uh huh. If I had bought my own car, would one have been installed on it without my knowledge? That is illegal, you know.”

  “It’s dangerous for someone like us to be without protection, Dylan,” Peter reminded him. “Not just because of my job, but because—”

  “Because we’re fucking loaded,” Dylan finished for him. “I know. I’m a pretty rich boy who has wanted for nothing my entire goddamn life. Except some actual privacy.” He rubbed his eyes as he chuckled. “You know, even as a teenager, in my rebellious phase, you didn’t try to stop me. It wasn’t a secret I was getting high or drunk and sleeping around. Even after I started again, I managed keep my buying quiet by doing it on the rare occasions that they decided to wait at a door.”

  “Their orders were to keep you safe from outside threats,” Martha said, laying her own fork down. “Not to stop you from living whatever life you chose to live.”

  “Right, because a fourteen-year-old kid has great decision-making skills.”

  “We’re horrible fucking parents.” Peter’s fork was laid aside as well. “Is that you want to hear? We messed up. Thank god you were our only child. I can’t imagine the damage we would have done raising another one.”

  “It helps to hear someone say it out loud. Thanks, Dad.”

  Martha picked up her wine, downing the rest of the glass. “This isn’t turning out to be much of a birthday dinner.”

  “What good is a birthday, if not for an airing of life’s grievances?” Dylan pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. “I’ll accept the car. I’ll even keep the tracker on it. I assume David still has the keys?”

  “They’re right here.” Peter reached into his pocket and placed the keys on the table. “You’re going to take the car and run?”

  Dylan picked up the key fob. “Only one set?”

  “David has the spare.”

  “For the sake of safety?”

  “It’s good to have a spare with someone you trust.”

  Dylan pursed his lips but gave a tight nod. “Of course.”

  “Sit back down,” Martha requested. “At least finish dinner. Rosa will think you didn’t like it.”

  “I’ll give her my apologies,” he replied. “I can’t be here anymore. Goodnight.”

  “Dylan.” Peter’s chair scraped as he stood up. “You came here for—”

  “I have never cared for the hoopla of birthdays,” Dylan said. “I’ll be back sometime next week to work in the studio. Good night.” He picked up his cell phone again as well, tucking it back into his pocket before he strode from the room.

  He was nearly to the side entrance when a voice made him stop.

  “Mr. Dylan, wait!” Rosa bustled down the hallway from the kitchen toward him. She carried a large paper sack, which she held out. “For you. I made extra. You hardly ate anything.”

  “Thank you.” He took the bag from her. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Of course, I did.” She patted his cheek. “It’s what I do.”

  “Rosa?” He set the bag down and taking her hand. “Why do you work here?”

  “What do you mean?” Her face contorted with confusion.

  “You’ve been our housekeeper for as long as I can remember. You’ve worked for my parents for nearly thirty years. Why?”

  She squeezed his fingers. “Mr. Dylan, if you want to hear me say that this is a job and I do it for the money, that wouldn’t be a lie. Everyone needs to work to make a living. However,” she tipped her head, giving him a critical look, “you and your parents are also my family. I watched you grow up like you were my own. I know all of your favorites. I know the music you listen to when you’re sad. I know your favorite hiding spots; candy when you were young, drugs when you got older.”

  “If you knew where they were, why didn’t you take them away?”

  “It made me an enabler, no?” She frowned. “There is a line, see? I feel disappointment when you do wrong. Pride when you do good. But, I am still only a housekeeper.” She squeezed his fingers again. “Drive carefully. Share the food with your friends, yes?”

  “I will,” Dylan nodded. “I’m sure you gave me far more than I could possibly eat on my own.”

  She smiled and hummed. She released his fingers. “Good night, Mr. Dylan. Let us know the next time you’ll be home for dinner. I’ll prepare one of your other favorites.”

  “Maybe we could just order in, next time?” He suggested. “You could take the night off?”

  “A night off? For what? I live upstairs,” she reminded him. “It’s not like I would go out on a hot date.”

  Dylan chuckled. “You’re never too old for love, Rosa.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Thanks, for everything you do for us. We don’t tell you that enough.”

  “You seem very sentimental,” she chided. “I don’t like it. It makes me worry you’re going to do something loco.”

  “I’m not. Just going home,” he assured her. “After I sit in that stupid car and figure out where everything important is in it.�
��

  “They meant well.”

  “They always do.”

  Chapter Three

  Dylan jumped at the knock on the window after he pulled into the parking garage an hour later. David had left an envelope on the front seat to let him know that Mora had given him the garage tag, as well as his stall assignment. He’d sat in the driveway to figure out where the lights were, how the wipers worked, adjust his mirrors and seat. It was a big vehicle and it made him nervous. He knew he’d get used to it, but he had been paranoid about where the backend was the entire drive home.

  He looked up at the person who knocked and was mildly surprised to see Jordan. The rest of his larger polycule seemed to be lurking at Heath’s SUV.

  “You bought a car!” Jordan smiled as he opened the door.

  “My parents bought a car,” Dylan corrected him in a dull tone. “It was easiest to just accept it.” He slammed the car door behind him before going into the backseat to pick up the paper bag. “Are you guys coming back or going out?”

  “We just got back. They helped Kyle with some packing and shipping today, and I was working on the Henderson. We were talking about getting dinner. If you haven’t eaten yet, you’re welcome to join us.”

  “I’m not hungry. My housekeeper sent me home with enough enchiladas to feed an army. Or a bunch of hungry queers.” He held up the bag. “You’re welcome to them.”

  “Let’s go ask,” he suggested. “I don’t think they had their hearts set on anything yet. –Don’t forget your keys and to lock your doors.”

  “Oh right.” Dylan went back to the driver’s door. He picked up the key fob from where he’d stuck it in the cup holder. “It’s a push button start. I hate it.”

  “You’ll get used to it. Or, drive it for a few weeks, then trade it in for something you pick yourself. Your parents can’t get mad at you for that, can they?”

  “My parents don’t bother getting mad at me about anything,” Dylan shoved the fob into his pocket. The doors locked loudly as they walked away.

  “Dylan has enchiladas,” Jordan called as they got closer to the group. “You interested?”

  “If they’re already here and they’re still hot, I’ll eat them,” Heath assured him. “I am starving.”

  “I can’t promise hot, but they re-heat well,” Dylan answered. “There’s rice and beans too.”

  “That sounds great. Your place then?” Kyle asked.

  “You can take it wherever you want,” Dylan held out the bag. “I already ate. I don’t need the containers back.”

  “You sure?” Kyle reached out, taking the bag. The group began to move toward the elevator bay. “I feel like we’re on the playground, stealing your lunch.”

  “Even if you don’t want to eat, you could come hang out,” Jack pressed, bumping Dylan’s shoulder. “You’ve been gone a lot.”

  “No offence, but we are all aware I can’t go to their apartment,” he pointed at Jordan, still standing beside him. “I don’t want to be the, what is it? Sixth wheel to this whole thing.” He waved toward the rest of the group as they stepped onto the elevator. He reached over, pressing the button for their apartment floor as Kyle pressed the button for theirs on the other panel. “I’m going to go to bed.”

  “It’s early, isn’t it?” Jordan’s tone attempted teasing, but he also couldn’t hide the worry.

  “I already went to a meeting today,” Dylan leveled. “It’s either go to bed or to go a bar. Bed it is.” He forced a smile. “Enjoy the food.”

  The elevator was quiet as it rose. Dylan sensed the awkward tension from the others beside and behind him. There was a ping! as the doors opened onto the lower floor where Kyle and Markus’s apartment was.

  “You guys go ahead.” Jordan ushered his boyfriend and the others out of the carriage. “I’ll be back down in a few minutes.”

  “You don’t trust that I’m going home?” Dylan asked, as the doors closed on the two of them again. “Or do you also think I’m liable to do something stupid? I keep reminding people, I’m not a physical self-abuser. I prefer substances. When I say I’m going to bed, I do literally mean I am going to crawl into bed.”

  “What happened at your parents?” Jordan asked.

  “They gave me a car I didn’t ask for.”

  “And?”

  “I had the dawning realization that they’ve been tracking every move I make since I was a child. I was watched every minute of every day until I was eighteen years old. Can you imagine that? I literally couldn’t jerk off in my own bedroom without calling down to the security office to turn the camera off. And even then, I would watch the fucking thing for the red light.” He gave a laugh. “It wasn’t even worth the hassle for privacy because they could turn it back on whenever they wanted.” He pushed out a sigh. “I’m tired.”

  “Do you want company?” The elevator door opened and Dylan stepped out. Jordan put a hand on the doors, stopping them from closing.

  “Kyle and the others are waiting for you. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

  “I can always eat,” Jordan admitted. “I’m asking anyway.”

  “We’re just friends, remember?”

  “We can still be friends who spoon. Can’t we?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never had a friend who does that.”

  “I won’t stay long. Only until you either fall asleep or you tell me to leave.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I think I want to enjoy being alone and unwatched for a little while. Or, as unwatched as it gets for me. I’ll see you later.”

  “You’re still coming to the show Friday, right?” Jordan called after him.

  Dylan didn’t answer except to wave as he let himself into the apartment.

  Chapter Four

  “I’m going to start drinking again.”

  “That would be a mistake.”

  “Recreationally. When I’m out. I don’t go out much anymore.”

  “Is this because your birthday is tomorrow?”

  Dylan looked up at Travis. The man was sitting across from him at the Java Pub. He’d walked over after wrapping up the Foundation class. Travis had already been sitting at their usual table.

  “It’s not about my birthday. It’s about having control over my own life.”

  “Drinking is something you control?” Travis asked. “Or does drinking control you?”

  “I’ve told you before, I’m not that kind of addict,” Dylan reminded him. “I have complete control of my faculties when it comes to alcohol.”

  “You’re going to throw away almost four years of sobriety on a lark? On a hope that it won’t all go awry this time? Dylan, you know that’s not how it works.”

  “What do I do to feel like I have control over my own life?” Dylan picked up his coffee. He hadn’t wanted it, but it was rude to take up a table and not buy something.

  “What makes you feel like you don’t?”

  “The man sitting at that table,” Dylan tilted his head slightly. “He followed me from the school. A normal person would consider him a stalker, but I’m ninety-seven percent sure he works for my parents. They sent him because I fried my phone two days ago. I replaced it and won’t give them the number. I’m not driving the car they gave me either.”

  “Sounds like you’re taking back control in a variety of ways.”

  “They’ll get the number soon enough,” Dylan said. “Within hours, a new tracking app will be installed and the cycle will begin all over again. I can’t completely avoid driving the car they have lojacked either.”

  “Look,” Travis folded his hands on the table, “I can’t stop you if you want to break your sobriety. I’ll be very disappointed, but it is your decision to make. Let it be a decision and not something you do rashly because you’re angry.”

  “I’d probably want the drink less if I was angry. I’m more interested in feeling something.” He set the mug back down, having not taken a drink from it.

  “Do you want to go to a meeting? There’s
one at the Rec Center in,” he looked down at his smartwatch, “twenty minutes?”

  “I’ve been to three meetings this week. I’m numb to those too.”

  Travis hummed. “What about the guy you were seeing? You haven’t mentioned him.”

  “We fooled around. I told him we shouldn’t do it again.”

  “Was he that bad?”

  “It was just an orgasm. No sparks.”

  “Sex doesn’t always come with sparks,” Travis retorted. “I adore my husband. Three out of five times, we’re just fucking to fuck. It doesn’t mean we don’t love each other.”

  “He has a boyfriend.”

  “You knew that before.”

  “It’s complicated. His boyfriend is also my roommate’s boyfriend. And my ex’s best friend’s boyfriend. He has another one too. He’s nice.” He looked up at Travis. “You’re my only friend who isn’t part of this bizarre little circus.”

  “Thank god for that.”

  They fell into an uneasy silence. Dylan picked up his coffee, taking a drink of it. It had cooled considerably. Travis poked his fork into his piece of pie.

  “So,” Travis finally broke the silence, “are you really going to?”

  “I don’t know,” Dylan admitted. “On one hand, I love proving everyone wrong and staying sober because I can do it. On the other, I miss the burn of a good vodka.”

  “Kentucky Bourbon,” Travis countered. “I liked it with the actual rocks that get really cold, so it doesn’t water down the drink.”

  “I never tried those,” Dylan answered. “My parents are uncomplicated drinkers and stick to the basics.”

  Travis pushed his cup to the end of the table. “You know where I sit on the matter. I can’t change your mind. I will say one last thing before I go home though. It takes more control to not give in than it does to just do the thing.” He slid out of the booth and shrugged into his jacket. “If you do fall off the wagon, don’t call me until you’re ready to get back on.”