No Sacrifice Read online

  As the first notes of “Here Without You” started, the audience quieted, and Patrick settled in to listen. A half-naked and very hot waiter came by and motioned toward Patrick’s drinks. Patrick couldn’t quite stop the once-over he gave the man, and had to, if grudgingly, admit to himself that he liked what he saw. But then he remembered what he was asked and nodded his assent for new ones. Then he forced his confusion back to the stage—it still messed with him to admit he found men attractive—and completely forgot about anything else.

  Chance, whether he realized it or not, was a performer. He smiled, winked, and in general, engaged the audience. Even though it was only him, his guitar, and the mic, Patrick found himself thoroughly entertained, watching as much as listening.

  Somewhere during Chance’s rendition of Green Day wishing the world “Good Riddance” and a reminder from the then John Cougar to enjoy life because the thrill of it is gone too fast, someone approached the table. Patrick didn’t notice at first, figuring it was the waiter passing by. And he didn’t want another reminder that his life—his sexuality—had shifted so much on him.

  Patrick knew that wasn’t entirely true. He had admitted to himself he’d had attraction to other males before. But it was still something he struggled to accept. And the now-constant reminders of it were starting to wear on him a little. He wished he could be as easy with it as Chance seemed to be. Chance appeared to be so comfortable in his own skin—like Sophia was, like Angelo and Sebastian. It was frustrating to find himself questioning so much.

  He tried to push the thoughts away and focus on Chance’s show.

  The song ended, and his friend said something he didn’t quite catch, because at that moment someone touched his shoulder. “Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

  Patrick looked up into a handsome face. Square jaw, bright blue eyes, and a full head of thick brown hair framed a rather nice smile. The thought wormed its way in that as handsome as the man was… he wasn’t Chance. Patrick filed that away to think about later as the man leaned in and asked the question again. But the question threw Patrick off, and he glanced around for a moment, wondering if the man meant to ask to borrow the chair. But there were plenty around them, so that obviously wasn’t it.

  Then the meaning hit, and Patrick opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, someone beat him to the punch. “Sorry, Brian, this one’s taken. He belongs to Chance.” Sophia stepped up to the table and pushed gently on Brian’s shoulder.

  Brian looked quite disappointed but nodded. “I see. Well, sorry to bother you, then.”

  “No bother. Sorry,” he said, though it didn’t sound very sincere, and Patrick knew it wasn’t. He’d never been picked up in a bar before, and he discovered it felt… weird. He smiled up at Sophia. “Thanks,” he said when Brian moved off.

  “Nothin’ to thank me for, darlin’,” she said, flashing him a smile and taking the chair next to him. She waved at half-naked waiter and, when he came over, leaned in to speak in his ear. He nodded and headed off. “Told ya I’d be back.” She patted his hand and turned her attention to the stage as Chance started playing again.

  Patrick frowned when he realized what the song was. He wondered if this was a standard set Chance played or if the songs were chosen on the fly. Because the lyrics weren’t lost on him. Chance’s voice went through Patrick as he sang about a relationship that had gone cold. Patrick had heard the song, “Sacrifice,” before in Elton John’s voice. He remembered looking up the meaning behind it and thinking it was kind of sad to think about two people realizing there just wasn’t anything left between them.

  Chance caught his gaze for a moment as he sang about two hearts living in separate worlds, and Patrick felt a lump form in his throat. He dropped his gaze to where his hands rested on the table, and it was drawn, yet again, to his left ring finger.

  Is that where we’re heading? He didn’t want to think about that, didn’t want to admit that was possible. He loved Emily.

  Didn’t he?

  The song ended, and Chance moved smoothly into the next. This one was another Patrick recognized, though not one he’d listened to much when it was out. Originally done by James Blunt, Chance sang about someone he saw on a subway, and it took Patrick a few seconds to register that Chance had changed the song slightly. The “she’s” became “he’s” instead.

  He wouldn’t look at Patrick. This time Chance kept his eyes fixed firmly on the rest of the audience. But Patrick heard the heartbreak in the song, the emotion behind lyrics about a man who would never be with someone he wants so much. There wasn’t the slightest doubt that Chance was singing from experience.

  Patrick couldn’t help but wonder who Chance was singing about. And like earlier, he didn’t like what he came up with. He was being ridiculous, and he knew it. First off, they were friends—only friends—and staying that way. Even if they weren’t, what Chance had done before him was none of his business.

  Sophia pushed a shot of whiskey at him, catching his attention. He picked it up and downed it in one gulp, his eyes meeting her green ones. There was something behind the look—an understanding Patrick wasn’t sure he was ready to accept yet.

  He was grateful when the song ended. He liked Chance’s voice, liked listening to his friend sing, but he had more than enough confusion going on. He didn’t want, didn’t need, to add things about his friend to the mess.

  “Two more before I take a short break, folks. The next two songs, I am sure, will have meaning in some way for pretty much everyone in the room.” He paused to take a sip of water, then turned back. “I don’t normally do this, and if you’re not usually here, ask a regular, they’ll tell you. But I’d like everyone tonight to think about dropping something in the tip can, if you haven’t. Tonight’s tips are going to The Trevor Project.” He had to pause again, and Patrick thought he probably could have heard a pin drop on the bar in the back. “The Trevor Project is aimed at helping LGBTQ youth avoid suicide. I’d bet most of us know someone that they might have helped… or may be able to help yet. So… if you haven’t, it’d be much appreciated. The first song is for Sophia.”

  Chance stepped back and adjusted his guitar strap. Chance opened by tapping on the body of the guitar, and within a few taps, Patrick thought he recognized the song. Instead of Bruce Springsteen, Chance’s voice began a haunting melody about a man who couldn’t recognize himself in the window’s reflection on the streets of Philadelphia.

  Patrick glanced around, his gaze landing on Sophia, who seemed to be holding herself together carefully as she watched Chance. Patrick would never forget the movie the song was from. He’d been flipping through channels on a Sunday afternoon and caught Tom Hanks. Since Tom was one of his favorite actors and he hadn’t readily recognized the role, he’d stopped.

  He hadn’t moved for the entire two hours.

  His exposure to the gay world had been fairly limited. His town, though one of the largest on O’ahu, was still relatively small. His school had been made up of either straight people or, if there were any gay or lesbian students, they’d been very closeted. There’d been no Pride Festivals or parades in Kane’ohe, and whatever had been down in Honolulu, he hadn’t known of. It just wasn’t something he’d heard about.

  He knew enough, even then, of the movie industry and theater to know the events were exaggerated. But the movie had left an impression on him that he’d never forget. The song that came out of it still haunted him when he heard it.

  And that song, in Chance’s voice, wasn’t likely to leave him for a long time.

  When it was over, Sophia finished her fruity umbrellaed drink in a long gulp, her hands slightly shaky. She wouldn’t look at him, and Patrick looked away to give her a chance to collect herself. Instead he sipped at his own drink and kept his focus on Chance, who set his guitar on its stand and turned to the piano behind him. He adjusted the mic, and without preamble, started the first few chords.

  It took three of those chords for Patrick to know the song. C
had Kroeger had nothing on Chance as he sang about suicide. Patrick had seen the video that accompanied the song—the one about a man losing his wife to childbirth—not long after Avery had been born, and it’d nearly torn him in two. Especially since there’d been complications with Emily during her pregnancy that had scared them—him—on more than one occasion. Avery had been delivered early by nearly two months, and Emily’s shaky recovery had been the stuff of Patrick’s nightmares for a good deal of time even after they were both home. His own thoughts had been frighteningly dark when he’d feared losing both of them.

  Yet again, the audience kept silent through the song. When Chance finished, the applause rattled the walls, Patrick’s contribution as loud as he could get it. Chance stood, waved, bowed, and headed off stage toward Patrick’s table.

  “I swear to all that is holy that you do your damnedest to make my makeup run at least once every week, Chance Dillon!” Sophia stood up and shook her finger at him. “Keep that up and I won’t let you play!”

  “Good. I can stop embarrassing myself up there,” Chance agreed, throwing a thumb over his shoulder.

  Patrick fought to keep from grinning as Sophia rolled her eyes and stomped one foot.

  “You are an ass,” she hissed.

  Chance laughed. “You love me and you know it.”

  She shook her head but leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Yes, dammit. You need to do something with him,” she said, turning to Patrick.

  Patrick raised his eyebrows. “What’s that?”

  “I don’t know, but maybe if he was domesticated he wouldn’t be such a dick.” She threw a glare at Chance.

  “I thought you liked dick,” Chance said, grinning.

  Sophia threw her hands up. “Yes, very much, as you well know, but that doesn’t mean I want one as big as you. I’m a drag queen, darlin’, not a size queen.” She stepped back and waved a hand. “I have other people to flirt with.” She winked at Patrick and started turning away, then stopped. “I’m tellin’ you. Collar that boy and make an honest man out of him!” With that parting shot, she disappeared into the shadows.

  “She’s something,” Patrick said, chuckling.

  “I like her, even if she gets on my nerves.”

  “I do too. I think she means well,” Patrick said. “Though I’m not sure I’m, uh, into collars.”

  Chance laughed. “Good. Neither am I.”

  Silence fell for a long moment as Patrick considered the implications of that. But he didn’t really want to, so he decided to bring up something else. “So, The Trevor Project? I take it there’s a story there.”

  Chance nodded. “Yeah. It’s not pretty. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

  “Yeah,” Patrick said and gave his own nod. “I do.”

  The waiter stopped by to bring fresh drinks, and after they thanked him, Chance spoke again. “His name was Doug, and he was… not my best friend, exactly. I didn’t really have a ‘best friend’ in school. But he was the closest thing to one I had.”

  He stopped to take a drink. “I was too afraid that if anyone got that close, they’d figure it out. You know, that I was gay. I’d heard too much about the bullying, about kids getting beaten up over shit like that.” He shook his head. “I was pretty tough. With Gareth, I learned to be… you know? Asshole on the best of days. But… I don’t care how tough you are, you can’t defend yourself against a whole gang.” He stared into his glass. “So, I didn’t have close friends. Anyway, Doug was as close as they got, and that’s only because we both figured out the other’s orientation. I could feel okay that I wasn’t going to get made fun of by someone who was also gay.”

  He chuckled. “That, of course, brought its own problems. One of the reasons we didn’t hang out too much was because we were both a little afraid that if they saw us together, they’d figure it out and… yeah, get that we were gay. You have to understand, I grew up in the Bible Belt.” He met Patrick’s eyes. “On the best of days, they were conservative. On the worst?”

  “Yeah,” Patrick said, nodding. He tried to imagine what it would have been like to try to come out at his school, and he simply couldn’t imagine it. Especially with some of the people he knew. The thought struck him that at some point he might have to come out to his family. That nearly terrified him, and he shoved the thoughts away to focus again on Chance. “So, you didn’t. Come out, that is.”

  “Not at school. Eventually my mom wouldn’t leave me alone about dating, asking girls out, and I just… couldn’t bring myself to try to date a girl only as a cover-up.” He sighed. “She would have seen through it, anyway. Mama… well, she wasn’t college educated or anything, but she was quick. She’s a hairdresser and hears a lot—you know that old thing about hairdressers and bartenders being therapists? Yeah, it’s like that. So she learned quite a bit over the years about human nature and people, and she could have seen right through anything I tried.” He chuckled. “She pulled me into the kitchen one Saturday morning when Gareth was still out from the night before and Vannah was still in bed. She set a cup of coffee in front of me and told me that I was gonna come clean. I was… terrified.”

  “God, I would be,” Patrick said, wide-eyed.

  “I didn’t need to be. Mama, well, she looked at me and said, ‘I’ll love you no matter what. If you lie, I’ll be pissed and you’ll be grounded until you’re thirty, but if you’re honest, I’ll love you.’ I… took a deep breath and told her. Now, we weren’t exactly religious—Mama didn’t go to church or anything—but she had her set of beliefs, and so I didn’t know how that would affect her. But she blinked at me, said, ‘Is that all?’ and shook her head. Somewhere along the line, we ended up laughing, and it all seemed okay.” He took another long drink from his beer. “I got lucky, though. Mama did her best to help keep my secret and help me leave my siblings in the dark. Vannah wouldn’t have cared, but she’s got a big mouth. Gareth….”

  “I can imagine,” Patrick said quietly.

  “Yeah, well, eventually, he found out. Caught me between home and school and beat the shit out of me. I fought back, though, gave him as good as I got. Mama grounded him for a month. But… well, he still gives me shit.” Chance shook his head. “But I could deal with Gareth. I expected it, you know?” Patrick nodded, and Chance continued. “Anyway, well, Doug was encouraged by what happened with my mama, so he wanted to talk to his parents. I tried to tell him that Mama was different, but he was miserable as closeted as he was and needed to tell someone in his family.”

  “It didn’t go well.”

  Chance didn’t answer at first, lost in some kind of memory Patrick could only speculate over. “No, it didn’t,” he finally said. “He got kicked out. His parents disowned him.”

  “Oh my God,” Patrick said, staring. He shook his head. “My family wouldn’t be happy about it, but we’re family. That’s really important to the Hawai’ians. I can’t see them kicking me out over it. I mean, they wouldn’t react well at all. They’re conservative, you know, but kicking me out? Disowning me? I don’t see it. Even being Catholic.”

  “Well, Doug’s parents did. I… I don’t get it either, Patrick, but it happens.” He sighed. “Mama felt horrible for him, but… she was struggling to raise the three of us. Gareth wouldn’t work. I did, but it was part time in high school. And she wouldn’t take money—Mama’s pride was a bit too much for that. And the place was too small for another person, even if she could do it. I mean… she fed him when she could, you know, and he slept on the couch some, but… well, it got to him, I think. He had a couple of other friends who gave him couch space now and again, but I can only imagine that kind of living gets old really quick.” Chance finished his beer and pushed it away. “One day, he disappeared. I don’t know what made the decision for him, what happened, but he was just… gone. I looked. Everywhere I could think of, called anyone and everyone we both knew and even a few I didn’t. I talked to everyone… tried to report it to the police, but they didn’t care. He was gone.�
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  Patrick wanted to reach out, to hold Chance’s hand or something, but he didn’t know if it would be welcome. Instead, he pushed his own beer over and watched Chance drink it down.

  “He surfaced a few months later. I think he was trying to reach out for help, but there was still nothing I could do. He was… in bad shape. He’d gotten hooked into drugs, was selling his body to pay for them, and he paid for it… because he was HIV-positive.” Chance shook his head. “He told me he got paid more if he was willing to bareback. And he didn’t see why it would matter. He had a place—it was little more than an empty room with a mattress. I saw it. It was horrible. But he insisted it was a good thing. God, it killed me to see. And I felt so bad. I think… I think he wanted me to approve of him. I forced the words out, but I’m afraid he didn’t buy it. All I saw was just….”

  He dropped his face in his hands, and Patrick gave in and put a hand on Chance’s shoulder. They stayed that way for a moment; then Chance looked up again. “He dropped out of contact again for a while. God, maybe… six months? Something like that. I had just convinced myself that something had happened to him, that he was really gone, when he came to the house one day. He looked… good, healthy. His clothes were clean, his face had weight to it, you know—looked like he’d been eating and it turns out he had. He’d gotten clean, no drugs, no prostitution. He was even getting medical care. He was excited, positive about life. The shelter he was in was even helping him get his GED. He was going to manage to graduate when I did.”

  “What happened?” Patrick asked when Chance fell silent again.

  “He never made it to graduation. In April of that year, the shelter called me. I was his emergency number, you see, if anything happened. And so, early one morning in late April, I got the call. He’d killed himself.”