Page 109 of Striking Range

“We know, Everett,” Ash explains calmly.

His calm is frightening, and for a moment, I don’t understand. And then a moment passes, and all I can feel is terror.

He knows? What does he think he knows? Should I just confess now, since I was already considering it?

“Sorry?” I mumble. Nothing else will leave me.

“I saw you. I had a meeting by the school the other day, and I drove out there. I saw you outside of that shitty little diner with your tongue down Skylar’s throat.” He’s not screaming the words, nearly stating them, and that in and of itself is almost worse.

I say nothing. I can’t force a single word to leave my mouth in the face of his discovery and my own stupidity. Why that day, of all days?

“Nothing to say for yourself?” he pushes.

Do I? Do I have anything I can say for myself? I have no idea which decision will be less painful, and I’m so tired of getting hurt.

But I think of Skylar, of his sassy comments and his beautiful cries, and I realize it doesn’t matter how much it hurts now, because forever is going to feel so good.

“I lied,” I say, my own tone confident despite my fear. “Ashley is not my girlfriend; we’ve been pretending. I’m actually dating Skylar, and I love him.”

Ash considers me for a moment, still incredibly calm. “So you deceived me.”

“I did. I just wanted you to be proud of me.”

He takes my whispered response and sneers, spitting out, “Proud of you? If you wanted me to be proud, you wouldn’t act like a homo.”

My hand slams down against the table, anger blooming inside of me. He’s not just dissing me, but Skylar as well.

“Enough,” I demand. “I will not sit here and let you berate me. I graduate in less than two weeks, and then I’m leaving. You won’t have to deal with me anymore.”

Ash leans back in his chair, once again the picture of someone completely unbothered. “So you’ve finally grown a backbone, huh? I ought to give you the back of my hand for that outburst.”

I may now be strong enough to say my piece, but on the inside, I’m still the scared little boy he’s raised, so I flinch at the comment.

“And you will be leaving, Everett,” he adds. “Somewhere far, far away.”

“What… What does that mean?”

“It means that you will not embarrass me. I will not have an openly gay son running around this town, this state, ruining the Carmichael name.”

“Wait,” I interject, my back straightening. “What are you saying? You can’t force me out of Florida. I’m a grown man.”

“Like hell I can’t!” he shouts, and it takes everything in me not to shrink into my seat and disappear altogether. I can feel the phantom brush of his knuckles against bruised skin. “You will leave, or you will regret it.”

I don’t understand him. Is he threatening to beat me up every time he sees me in town? He couldn’t—he has an image to uphold.

And it’s at this moment that I notice the manila envelope laid out before him. He slides it toward me before placing his intertwined fingers on the table.

“What is this?” I ask him, staring down at the envelope.

“This is why you will leave. This is how I win.”

An ominous feeling overcomes me. I fear that in this singular moment the trajectory of my entire life is going to change.

What is in this envelope? I don’t want to open it. I don’t want to see whatever threat or leverage Ash has shoved inside in an attempt to push me out of this state.

I try to catalog every horrible thing I’ve ever done, or anything embarrassing enough to scare me so badly, but come up short. To appease him, I’ve never truly stepped out of line.

“Go on,” Ash urges. “Open it.”