Page 46 of Teach Me To Sin
There’s an uneasy, confused silence the rest of the day, as we get our things from the hotel. I’m pretty sure Colson took Alek aside while I was slamming underwear into my suitcase and told him to give me space. The whole time we’re waiting for the plane to leave, he keeps looking at me like he’s about to say something, then changing his mind and turning back to the book he’s only pretending to read. I claim the window seat this time, and wedge myself tightly against the wall to sleep with my hood up around my face. I try to hide last night safely away in my dreams, where it stays untainted by everything else, so that no one can touch the few dark hours where we were perfect and unbreakable.
Alek
I toldmyself I wouldn’t eat one of the half-dozen donuts sitting in a cardboard box on my passenger seat. But if ever a man in all of history has earned a fucking blueberry glazed donut, it’s me after the week I’ve had. By the time I pull into my designated spot at the swim center, I have a box of five donuts and sticky sugar on all my fingers.
After the meet, I agreed against my better judgment to let Benji have a week off to recover. I can’t stop thinking about the moment when I woke up on the plane ride home and overheard him crying softly, pressed against the wall and hidden by his oversized hoodie. Much too late, I realized how badly I let him down. My father never looked after his swimmers’ mental health; he threw us into impossible odds again and again and made our lives absolute hell if we didn’t rise above them. I forgot what it was like to be a scared, excited kid at his first meet, carrying impossibly big dreams and hopes that are so easy to shatter.
My first step to putting things right is a half-dozen donuts minus one. In my defense, the sixth one was delicious and he’ll never miss it. Surely not even a twenty-three-year-old athlete needs more than five donuts.
I hope Benji’s had a good week, because mine fucking sucked. The Lang Aquatic Center is having its fundraiser gala the day after tomorrow, in an edgy art gallery across the street whose second floor boasts a beautiful view of our facility through a wall of windows. If the community day is my favorite event each year, this one is my most hated–instead of hot dogs and bouncy castles, you get tuxedos, canapes, and kissing millionaires’ asses for a scrap of their wealth. Maya always used to help us prepare, teaching me the difference between tacky and classy decor, what appetizers complement each other, and whether or not my speech sucked. Now all I have are Victor and Tate. The three of us have fought over every detail, until I never want to see either of them again.
As if that wasn’t enough, the kids have been ornery brats in class, passive aggressive headlines about me keep popping up and forcing me to have awkward conversations with confused parents, and I haven’t exchanged a single word with Benji or Colson. In a different world, maybe we would have foolishly tried to make something work. But it’s so utterly pointless that none of us can even consider it. Colson’s sailing away and never coming back. Benji is a bundle of trouble wrapped in an enigma who is withdrawing so fast I’m afraid I won’t be able to hold on to him as a student, let alone something more. And I’m still just me, someone who will never be able to separate himself from his work because he can’t even tell the difference anymore. So the three of us parted at the airport with a silent understanding that this was it. I know it’s for the best, but I wasn’t prepared for the huge, ragged hole they left in my chest.
Sucking glaze off my thumb, I squint at the cluster of people standing outside the swim center, staring at the building. Aside from Victor on a smoke break, no one loiters out here. But I can’t see Victor–just Tate, Willow, one of our part-time trainee instructors…and a cop. Instead of panicking, my brain just shuts off instantly, like someone bumped the power button. All I can hear is the sound of my own breath loud in my ears. If Colson’s dire warnings ever came true, I assumed the last remaining men from my father’s case would targetme–my reputation, my position at the nonprofit. I never thought they’d physically touch this place, come on to the property and put their hands on the walls that represent hope and healing. I was foolish. I know what kind of people these are, and I should have been more afraid.
In a daze, I turn my car off and pull my ridiculously huge set of keys out of the ignition. The kids keep gifting me keychains–swimming ones, ones from their random vacations, silly ones–and of course I have to use five years’ worth at once so no one’s feelings get hurt. Normally it makes me smile; today I just feel sick as I wrestle them into my pocket.
Clutching my silly box of donuts, I hurry across the lot. When Tate hears my shoes on the asphalt, he turns sharply. “Alek. I need to talk to you inside.” Everything’s wrong with his body language and his voice, the way he steps toward me with an arm out like he’s trying to herd me away.
I stop just outside his reach. Everyone’s staring at me now. “What the fuck is going on?”
Tate’s hazel eyes narrow, and his voice drops to an authoritative rumble. He’s like the dad of our staff–responsible, peacemaking, and fiercely protective. “Come inside, Alek. I’ll explain everything.”
“No, let me see.”
When I try to walk around him, he steps into my path and puts a broad hand on my shoulder. “Please don’t.”
I resist the urge to fight him, reminding myself that he’s one of my closest friends and has thirty pounds of muscle on me. Instead, I shove the box of donuts into his hands. When he grabs it instinctively, I dodge past him. Willow steps out of my way, her usually bright eyes clouded, and I finally see clearly.
Like Father, Like Sonhas been spray-painted in foot-high, neon pink letters across the brick. Underneath, someone else addedPedophilesin red, with an arrow pointing toward the front door. The two colors clash and run down in long, nauseating trails to stain the sidewalk. It must have been done in the middle of the night–the wall was clear when I passed it on my way home yesterday evening, but the paint has been dry for a long time.
This was my safe space for six years. I couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful experience with more perfect people, and I thought Victor and I were finally healing. But the demons found me. They must have been waiting this whole time, in case I stepped out of line. What I don’t understand is how quickly they reacted, like they know what I’m going to do next.
I have no idea how long I just stare in silence before Tate grabs my bicep and gently pulls me away. “We canceled classes for the day and called a cleaning company. They’ll be here in an hour.”
“Victor?” I croak, looking around for him as Tate drags me through the door.
“I called Ethan to keep him home.”
And I’m here because they didn’t have anyone to call for me. I want to stop moving for a second, because I’m so dizzy, but most of all I want to feel Benji and Colson wrapped around me. To know that there’s someone who doesn’t secretly wonder if it’s true or expect me to have all the answers.
By the time Tate pushes me through the door of my office and deposits me in a chair, I’m thinking more clearly. “What did the cop say?”
He grimaces, setting my donuts down on the corner of my messy desk. “He’s making a report, but he said that graffiti isn’t exactly a serious crime and we don’t have any evidence.”
“What about the security footage?”
“We’re pulling it, but they probably wore masks and hoods. He said to contact them if we find evidence to suggest it’s a targeted threat or if anything worse happens. Or if we have any real suspects.”
The wordworseforces a slightly insane-sounding laugh out of me. “So we just have to wait and see if they decide to…I dunno. Break in? Attack one of our staff?” Before he can answer, I snap my fingers and point at him. “Wait, did you explain to him about my dad and Victor and the sex ring? How there are rich, powerful men who want us gone so we can never implicate them?”
The man blinks at me a couple of times, then drags his hands down his face. “Say all those words out loud again slowly, listen to yourself, and then tell me you really want me to go downstairs and ask Jim the overworked city cop to start waterboarding all the wealthiest men in the city to find out if they graffitied our building.”
“Oh my god,” I groan, draping my arms over my messy desk and burying my face in them. “I’m losing my mind. I’m sorry. What the fuck is happening?”
“It’s okay, just take a breath.” He inhales deeply, holds it, then releases it like some kind of helpful demonstration of how lungs work. “You’re the victim of a crime. It’s understandable to be upset. Can you take the day off and hang out with someone? Maya? Or you and I could go on a hike?”
“She moved to Bainbridge,” I mumble, trying to hold myself together. “I’m fine, Tate. I have coaching with Benji tonight, so I might as well spend the afternoon here.”