Page 127 of Faithful

“Charles Heller.”

I feel like someone’s just shoved a lug wrench into my solar plexus. No wonder that face has been bugging me all this time.

“Those shipping containers?” I breathe out. “Out by the harbor?”

Kai nods. “That’s the one.”

I need a second to process this, to wrap my head around the fact that sometime in the past the person I love was entangled with a shipping mogul who’s most likely an acquaintance of my father. I suddenly remember all those boring events at the country club Gavin dragged me to when I was a teen, when he still had hope for me, when he still introduced me to his rich and influential friends, bragging about my academic and basketball achievements.

If you are the son of a politician, you’re basically forced into learning all the big names and the Heller name is as big as it can get in the city of Seattle or anywhere in the Pacific Northwest.

Kai’s quiet. He doesn’t try to talk, to give me any kind of explanation. He just stands there staring into the distance, hands in his pockets, lips parted, eyes sad and intense.

The pieces of my memories finally snap into place. “He’s married,” I say. “Heller.”

“Yes. He is.” Kai tips his chin in acknowledgement. “And has four kids and secretly likes young men.”

I’m not even surprised anymore at how many people choose to remain in the closet or keep their preferences to themselves because it’s easier to build certain careers on lies rather than bravery. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“It does, Dylan. Charles will finish the job if your father doesn’t bury me deep enough.”

“I don’t get it.”

There’s a long torturous moment of silence. Finally, Kai turns to face me and pulls out his hands from the pockets of his coat. “You don’t, do you?”

“You had an affair with a married man,” I say. “And my father hopes to shut you up with this affair by threatening to expose it to me and your mom.”

“I had a visitor again the day after I left.”

My heart skips a beat.

“He said that the photos of me and you in the 7-Eleven parking lot weren’t supposed to happen. They’re a liability and I’m not to approach you again. Otherwise, the whole world will know about me and Charles.”

“About your affair?” I breath out.

“It wasn’t an affair.”

Something in my head clicks.Did you ever ask your boyfriend how he paid for that house in Everett?

“It was a transaction,” Kai rasps out, his words harsh and strange and suddenly a lot of things make total sense.

I’m taken aback and rattled and can’t seem to think of a good response, so I simply examine him, examine his microexpressions.

“Understand this,” he continues in that deep, somber voice. “When you’re queer and you’re poor, when you know your grades aren’t even community college material and when your passion for music isn’t going to get you far and when your only parent’s insurance doesn’t cover shit, all you have left to sell is your body. It’s the one fucking thing that can get you what you need. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, Dylan, would you? You had everything. You grew up without worrying about the basics like clothes or food or bills or rent money. Or a disabled mother. You never had to trade a piece of yourself for cash so you could pay for her next medical procedure, right?”

There’s a mix of pain and accusation in his gaze and I’m struggling with my emotions, but they take over anyway. They rush through me, with wave after wave after wave of questions.

“Do you really want for the entire world to know your boyfriend is a whore? Do you know what it’ll do to us, or my mom, or the guys in the band, or Charles? It’s okay to be controversial when you’re making art, but people condemn you for breaking up families.”

I think I’m a little sick from the fact that Gavin can sink so low.

As for Kai…

Does it matter where he’s come from?

Does it matter which road he took?

Or does it only matter where we’re headed?

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