Page 100 of If This Gets Out

“Well, I hope they aren’tdying,no song is worth that. But I’m excited for them to hear it. I think it’s good, and I think it’s something a little different for Saturday. Plus, it’s nice to have a song that’s a little more personal, you know? I want our listeners to get to know this side of me.”

“Excuse me,” says Angel, and he stands up, and goes toward the bathroom, leaving his untouched Pepsi. A guard follows him across the café, but he goes into the bathroom alone. A few seconds later, the model guy I noticed walks out.

It could just be a coincidence.

But my instincts are telling me Angel is up to something.

NINETEEN

RUBEN

The night our whole world falls apart, I spend most of our concert lost in thought.

It starts with Zach. Since watching him that night in the hotel room, I’ve tried to catch more glimpses of him onstage. I have to do it with a measure of subtlety, though, in case it gets too obvious and someone from Chorus reprimands us.

So, as surreptitiously as possible, I steal glances at him, marveling at the way he bites his lip unconsciously when the tempo picks up and the choreo speeds with it. His little smiles at the audience. The damp strands of hair he pushes back from his head with spread fingers.

And while I’m doing it, a black ball of bitterness coils in my stomach. Because I shouldn’t have to train my eyes to look anywhere but him, when they simply want to trail back to him and his magnetic pull.

I try to picture how Chorus will announce our relationship.

I try to picture us holding hands on this very stage.

But I can’t.

Then I turn my attention to Jon. The way he bites his lip on purpose, seducing the crowd like he’s been taught to. Hislust-ridden, crooked smiles, directed at whichever lucky girl he can find in the nosebleed section. The way he spreads his fingers apart as he runs his hand over his thighs, sending a ripple of charged electricity through the audience.

And the bitterness grows. Because he’s an unwilling puppet.

Then I look to Angel. The way his lips are parted as he drags in labored, exhausted breaths—he’s not high tonight, but he looks like he had a hell of a timelastnight. The way his smiles resemble smirks, like he can’t quite commit to them. The way he balls his hands into fists whenever we stop dancing, like he’s laden with tension he can’t get out any other way.

And the bitterness surges. Because I just don’t think he’s okay. And there’s nothing I can think of to stop this train from derailing.

The bitterness must show on my face, because people give me a wide berth backstage. Zach asks me a couple of times if I’m okay, while we change, and on the drive home, but I just smile tightly and say I’mfine.

I get a message from Mom, and I send her a quick response. After a few back and forths, I give myself a quick break. I don’t have the capacity right this moment. I’ll message her in twenty or so, before she gets too worked up, and tell her my phone ran out of battery or something.

At the hotel, nestled in the bustling center of Budapest, Angel disappears to his room, and Jon disappears to his, and Zach and I escape into mine. Once we’re alone, I feel the bitterness start to uncoil just a little. Things always seem more manageable when I’m with just him.

Zach kicks off his shoes and sits on the bed, holding his arms out. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

I shrug and climb onto the bed beside him, letting himwrap me into a cocoon of a hug. The pressure of his touch melts some of the tension from my back. We sit in silence for a long while, Zach scrolling his phone with his free hand, me breathing in the scent of his chest until the rhythm of my heartbeat slows to match his. Usually, we’d be tearing each other’s clothes off around about now. But tonight—for now, anyway—I just want quiet closeness.

After a while, Zach lowers his phone, and runs his fingers through my hair. I could fall asleep like this, resting my head on his chest. But I think we need to talk.

“I’m just worried about the whole coming-out thing,” I say finally. “What if they don’t let us tell people after Russia?”

He pauses mid-stroke. “They said they would.”

“I know. But what if theydon’t?”

Zach pulls away from me. He leaves behind the ghost of his touch on my skin. I wish I hadn’t said anything, and I’d let him hold me for hours.

“Well,” he says. “I don’t know. Whatcanwe do if they don’t?”

I chew on my thumbnail. “That’s not exactly a comforting response.”

Zach’s smile is soft and warm. “Hear me out, okay? So what if they don’t ever let us come out?”

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