Jory Strong: Two Spirits

The oppressive feeling of having his life completely out of control settled around Trey Masters like a heavy fog. Could it be any worse?

His stomach clenched as soon as he thought it. Yeah. Yeah, it could be a hell of a lot worse. He could be in some unmarked grave or at the bottom of the ocean. The Veron family could still be ruining lives with him as an unwitting accomplice and his students or the kids he coached as victims.

Trey closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the cold window of the police cruiser. He wasn’t sorry for what he’d done. There’d been no choice but to do the right thing. He was an elementary schoolteacher, for god’s sake. What kind of a man would he be if he’d said no when the Feds showed up and asked him to help them bring down a powerful family making and distributing child pornography?

No, he wasn’t sorry he’d helped. Even if he’d known beforehand that Patricia Veron made a deadly, vengeful enemy, he would have kept sleeping with her and kept pretending everything was okay because he’d been desperately clinging to the illusion of heterosexuality.

Bile rose in his throat as he wondered if he might eventually have asked her to marry him if the Feds hadn’t stepped in. He wanted to believe the answer was no.

Old feelings of self-loathing threatened to return but Trey ruthlessly stomped them down. Pretending, yeah, he was good at that. Pretending and denial had been a part of his life since he was twelve years old and got an erection thinking about his best friend.

He’d been convinced he was going straight to hell then. He’d become certain of it when the fantasies become more detailed and erotic as he grew older.

Fag. Queer. Pervert. The names were knives with the power to shred lives. He’d seen what happened when other kids got labeled. He’d done everything in his power to avoid it. In high school he’d become a track star, a debate team captain, the boy who never lacked for a date or a girl willing to let him touch her breasts and cunt.

In college it was more of the same. He’d continued to run track though he’d traded the debate team for the school paper. There’d been fewer girls but the ones he did go out with, he’d fucked, wanting to convince himself he was straight.

After he graduated there’d been his first teaching job, followed by a second one when he’d moved back home because his mother was starting to show the signs of the disease that would come to define both of their lives. Even if he hadn’t already been steeped in years of denying his core self, he wouldn’t have acknowledged his sexuality then, not in his devoutly religious mother’s house.

On the outside, he’d been the successful son his mother had wanted. But on the inside, with each year that passed, he’d had to work harder and harder to suppress the truth of what he really was. Gay.

Trey grimaced. What a word. Gay. There was nothing about being homosexual that made him even remotely happy, much less lighthearted and carefree. Then again, when had he ever allowed himself to act on a same-sex attraction? Never.

Maybe it was time to stop pretending. Maybe when this was over and it was safe to involve someone else in his life…

Trey rubbed his chest. The dull ache was still there months after the funeral even though the truth was he’d lost his mother years ago to frontotemporal dementia—FTD to those unfortunate enough to have someone they love suffer from the fatal condition that shrinks the lobes in the brain controlling personality and speech.

It was a relief to know she was at peace now. She would have hated knowing what she’d become. Only his memories of how much she’d loved and sacrificed as she’d raised him on her own had helped Trey hang on as the disease turned her into a verbally abusive and embarrassing stranger.

A flash of lightning followed by the crack of thunder made him open his eyes. The cop driving grunted and said, “They might as well have sent you to Alaska. Christ, who picked this place?”

Trey didn’t have an answer as he looked out at Hohoq. It was supposed to be his refuge but seemed more like a dreary prison. He counted five buildings and prayed the mist pressing in on the police car was hiding the rest. A glance was enough to extinguish any hope for a bookstore or a library. He’d probably end up grateful for a TV getting more than one or two channels.

The car slowed to a halt in front of an old-fashioned sign swinging on heavy chains. Sheriff.

“Grab your stuff,” the cop said as he cut the engine and placed his hand on the door handle. “As soon as I make the official handoff, I’m out of here.”

“Sure thing. I know you’re in a hurry.”

“Bet your ass I am. My wife’ll kill me if I’m not back and on the plane to Vegas with her.”

Trey rubbed his chest again, this time as twinges of envy slid through him. He wanted what the cop had, a nice heterosexual lifestyle with a wife at his side both at home and out in public.

He wanted it, but he knew it wasn’t going to happen unless he was willing to spend the rest of his life living a lie—or unless he stopped letting what others think define how he lived. There were cities where it’d be no big deal to be openly gay. There were liberal school districts and communities where people understood being gay didn’t equal being a child molester—far from it, and the statistics proved the point. Most of the sick scum who preyed on children were heterosexual.

Trey snagged the single duffle bag he’d had time to pack in his mad rush to get out of the house and into an informal protective custody arrangement. Maybe when this was all over he’d take a trip somewhere and…what…hit a gay bar, check out the personals? Yeah, right.

His virgin ass was so obvious it glowed. He’d attract every predator in town.

He opened the car door and was hit with a blast of wet icy wind. It was enough to bring Trey’s thoughts clearly back to the here and now.

Survival. That was key. Even with his heaviest jacket on, he felt like he was freezing by the time he made it the short distance into the sheriff’s office. His cop escort was already making the handoff to a man Trey figured was the sheriff, though he was surprised at the thick braid accompanying the Native American features.

“He’s all yours,” the cop said. “No sign of Patricia Veron, but that doesn’t mean she won’t surface for some payback.”

“So expect trouble?” the sheriff asked, the answer lost on Trey as another man stepped into the room.

Trey stiffened, cock-first. He buried his hands in his pockets and was grateful the jacket was long enough to cover a boner that’d scream fag if any of the other men noticed it.

Stop fighting it. If you’d accepted it earlier you’d never have been sleeping with Patricia Veron and none of this would have happened.

Trey ducked his head and tried to get himself under control. Think small town and just how notorious cops are for being close-minded when it comes to queers. It didn’t help. In that split second of awareness an image had burned into his mind and his cock wasn’t going to let him forget it.

Tenino was having a hard time paying attention to the conversation between the city cop and Tekoa. His gaydar was pinging and his cock was at attention and ready to serve in the line of duty. It was the last thing he’d expected when he stepped into the office.

He’d been dreading hauling a stranger out to his cabin, but now…blond hair, blue eyes, a neat ponytail he could already see himself freeing and spreading out across the sheets on his bed… Tenino could hardly wait for introductions.