Page 62 of Man On

"Dad, what's going on?"

He sighs heavily. "I can't tell you everything, because I don't really know it all myself, and it's not my place. But Lane might need some extra support, so I'm going to give you a Cliff's Notes version. Please keep this information to yourself unless Lane confides in you. Please, Noah?"

"Yeah, Dad. Okay. Just tell me what's going on."

The shower is still running, but I close my door just in case.

"They found some pretty scary stuff during the raid," he starts. "Things were much worse there than we thought. We don't know which parts Lane was involved in. Hannah is hoping Lane will talk to her about it, but you know how he is. She's worried he'll bottle it up and?—"

"Explode under pressure?" I finish for him. That’s exactly what he'll do. Or what he'd normally do. I won't let that happen.

"I told you that a detective was trying to get Hannah and Lane to testify?"

"Yeah, I remember. They declined, right?”

"They did. But after everything they found, and the charges being brought against the leaders, there’s a good chance they could be subpoenaed. Hannah has gotten in touch with a lawyer, but Lane will need to meet with them."

"They can do that?” I huff. "Is there any chance they won't?"

"I don't know. A lot of the charges are pretty terrible. And the guy that was in charge after Pastor Warren died…" He pauses, and in the silence I can imagine him rubbing the bridge of his nose the way he does when he's stressed or upset. "He's Lane's biological father."

"What!?" I can't help but raise my voice, but I quickly lower it after sneaking a peek out the door to make sure Lane isn't listening. "I thought he didn't have a father. I mean, obviously he had one, but I thought Hannah didn't know who he was or something?"

"It's complicated," he sighs. "But it's not my story to tell. I probably shouldn't be telling you any of this in the first place. I just wanted to give you a heads up. Hannah is trying to keep the detective from showing up to talk to Lane, but she needs to talk to him. Tell him to call her back. It can’t wait until this weekend. And, uh—be there for him, okay?"

"It'd be easier to be there for him if I knew any of what was going on."

"It's not my place, son. Enough of their business is being slung all over the media. They're making a goddamned documentary about it for fuck's sake. The least we can do is try to give them space to grieve in peace."

"How bad was it?” I saw clips of the raid; it’s been all over social media. Could any of those conspiracy theories be true?

"Pretty bad, son. I can't imagine what that kind of childhood would do to a kid."

I blow out a breath. "I've got him, Dad. We're all good here," I assure him, although I don’t know how I'm going to live up to that promise. If it means giving my stepbrother a million blowjobs just to keep his mind off things so he doesn't implode, I'll do it. Happily. But I doubt it could be that easy.

"I think Hannah's telling me she's got Lane on the phone. I'm going to go be with her, just in case. And don't forget we'll see you Saturday for the match. I was hoping we could all go to dinner afterwards."

"Okay, yeah, that sounds good."

"And Noah?"

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Thanks for being you."

I don't know what to say to that, so I just tell him I love him and that I'll see him this weekend. When I hang up, I sneak across the hallway to press my ear against his door. I hear his voice, low and steady, presumably talking to Hannah. I can't hear what's being said, but he doesn't sound too upset. Then again, if I know Lane at all, he'll keep it together when he's around everyone else. He'll tell his mom he's fine, he'll tell my dad the same. He'll tell me to my face that nothing's going on, and then I'll hear him exercising in his room until he passes out. Sometimes he has nightmares and talks in his sleep, but I can't hear what he's saying.

It's still a reasonable hour for a late breakfast, so I pull out a few things and make pancakes. Lane takes a long time on the phone. I keep sneaking back to press my ear to his door to check if he's still talking. Eventually he comes out, and he has this almost robotic manner about him. He's pleasant enough, but his mask is feeble at best. I can't tell if he's not trying as hard because we've made some kind of breakthrough, or if he's just numb.

I supposed I'd rather feel nothing if it were me. And he deserves a damn break. So if he wants to zone out for a while, I can help him with that. We should probably talk about what happened in the hallway and how that's going to work, but we don't have to do that now. We can talk about it once I suck him off again, so he's nice and relaxed.

"Want to watch a movie today?" I ask. "We can't really go anywhere, so I was thinking you'd like one of the Monty Python movies. But we can watch anything you want," I say, moving around the kitchen, trying to act casual.

"I'm actually going to go meet up with Danny for a bit, do some lifting."

Act casual. Act casual. Act fucking casual.

"Oh." That's all I've got. If I say anything else, it will not be casual.

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