Greatest Hits

CW: This story contains themes of bullying, homophobia (including a slur), explicit language, and terminal illness.

“Did you steal my chalk?” a boy interrupts my coloring.

“What?”

“I was using that chalk,” he says, arms crossed across his chest. Curly black hair falls into his eyes, and knobby knees are covered in bandages and bruises. Dark brown eyes narrow on me.

“I-,” I start, but now that he is staring at me, I’m scared I’ll start stuttering.

“I would have given you some,” he says.

I look down at the picture I was creating below, with flowers sprouting from the asphalt, and I can't help but be impressed by how much better it already looks.

The boy slumps down on his knees next to me and takes the red I haven’t touched. I watch as he begins covering the blacktop haphazardly. He must feel me watching him because his head turns to me, his tanned skin slightly darker around the cheeks, “We can share, right?”

I smile…

Beep.

The locker rushes to meet my face, and I turn my head quickly to protect my nose. The cold metal burns against my cheekbone.

“Fag,” Jason spits into my hair. White-hot rage burns in my chest. I am not as strong as Jason, but I am significantly taller now, and I use my long arms to my advantage, pushing off the locker and slamming us both back into the wall, my body slightly crushing his, before he pushes me off as if I am contagious.

Jason's pale cheeks flush, and his fist pulls back.

Before Jason can beat my face in, a dark form springs on top of him. Shock renders me speechless as Sam throws his fist against Jason’s face repeatedly.

Beep.

Sam and I walk home together side by side. I am not sure why he insists on doing it, because it's definitely out of his way… but I am not in a position to deny his company.

A bruise forms on the side of Sam’s temple where Jason got a lucky punch in, and my stomach churns.

“You really shouldn’t have gotten involved.” I bite my lip.

He sighs patiently, “I am not just going to stand by while Jason terrorizes my best friend, okay?”

“But- but-,” I take a deep breath, “Now you're in trouble with the school, Sam.”

“My mom doesn’t care.”

“What about your dad?”

His body tenses, the same way it always does, and my fingernails bite into my palms.

“I know you mean to help me, but you can’t keep fighting my battles, okay?” I end on a stutter, but try to focus on the fact that my voice was mostly steady.

His steps falter, and he plants his sneakers into the sidewalk. I pause and give myself one tiny second to stare at his deep brown eyes and lean, muscular frame. He is still a few inches taller than I am, despite my recent growth spurt.

“Gabe,” Sam says. “Your battles are my battles.”

He says it with such finality that my heart pumps faster, anxiety and hope colliding in my chest. Does he really mean that? He stares into my eyes like he means it, and my legs bring us closer. It seems like an eternity flies by in that second. I see the confidence in his gaze as something else. Something I have left unsaid, and in a moment of uncharacteristic bravery, I kiss him.

His body tenses, and he pulls away. Both of our chests are heavy with breaths, and his eyes dart back and forth between mine.

“I don’t-,” he starts, wetting his lips. “I'm sorry,” his face crumples, and I immediately know what this is—a rejection.

“I- I- I-,” My trembling body only intensifies my stutter, and I want to scream. What was I thinking? Tears pool into my eyes, and his expression is one of panic. He must sense that I am about to bolt because his hand jumps out and captures my forearm.

“You’re- you’re incredible, okay… I just can’t, I’m not gay,” he explains desperately.

I never felt more humiliated, and I only have myself to blame. I wipe hot tears from my face, while shame eats at my cheeks and chest. “I am so sorry,” I manage through tears.

His gaze softens. “It’s okay,” he whispers and pulls me into a hug. “You’re my best friend,” he says into my hair.

Beep.

“Of course, Sam asked Lexy to prom,” Nick snorts over a glass of spiked punch. We are both watching Sam and Lexy dance together. I tell myself I don’t care, but that doesn’t ease the ache in my gut.

“What do you mean?” I say, focusing on the glittering lake through the windows.

“It's just so predictable, you know?”

I hum.

“Hey guys!” Lexy’s voice pierces through the air.

I turn to face Lexy and offer a smile, then allow myself a second to browse over Sam’s muscular and tall form. His skin is darker this time of year, and it stands out beautifully against the navy-blue suit.

“Aw, you guys look so cute together!” Lexy claps her hands and smiles at Nick and me.

I force a smile and stay quiet. Truthfully, Nick has been getting on my nerves lately. But we've dated for two years, and I didn’t want to go to prom solo, especially after Sam asked Lexy out. Art school can’t come fast enough.

Nick wraps his arm around my waist, pulls me tight, and kisses my cheek. I smile through it, but falter when Sam forces his attention away.

He says he’s fine with my sexuality, but any time I’m openly affectionate with Nick, he looks away. It infuriates me. I want to call him out, but I never do.

“Aren't they cute, babe?” Lexy tugs at Sam’s jacket.

He smiles down at her before saying, “Adorable.”

She giggles and kisses him on the lips.

I fight the urge to look away. This is different, though. I don’t care that he’s straight; he doesn’t belong with her. They aren’t right together. Lexy is too bubbly and energetic. He needs someone more grounded.

Nick's voice plucks at my consciousness.

“What?” I say.

Nick stares at me blankly before his eyes narrow, “Did you hear anything I said?”

I stammer.

“You know what, Gabe, I’m done.” His arm releases me like I am a live wire, and he pushes his way through the crowd.

“Wait,” I say, catching up to Nick.

“What is your problem?” I snap at him.

“What's my problem?” He says, turning to face me. “You know what, I’ll tell you exactly what my problem is. My problem is that my stupid boyfriend is in love with someone else!”

The air refuses to meet my lungs, while I try to recover from that blow. “What are you talking about?”

He rolls his eyes at me, “You really think in two years I didn’t pick up on the fact that you're in love with Sam?”

I can think of absolutely nothing to say. There is nothing to defend against or an argument to make. I am in love with Sam, I think some part of me always has been.

Beep.

I make my way to the lakeside. I don’t want to go back inside, and Nick took his car, so I am stranded out here unless I call my mom, which I desperately don’t want to do.

When I finally sit down in the grass next to the still water, Sam sits down next to me, like he was waiting.

I groan. “You should go inside. I’m sure Lexy isn’t done having fun yet.”

“She is with her friends, and even if she weren’t… I don’t know that it would matter.”

I sigh. His voice is so deep and comforting. I should insist on being left alone, but I don’t.

“Are you okay?” He says.

I shrug.

“Did he leave you here? Isn’t he your ride?”

“He did, and he was,” I let out a humorless chuckle.

“Fucking dick, I don’t care how mad he is, he doesn’t just get to leave you stranded.” Some sick part of me loves this. Loves that he’s angry on my behalf.

“It's fine, Sam.”

“It's not, he's an asshole, and you could do better.”

I shake my head and let my head fall between my knees. “He isn’t the asshole, Sam. I am.”

He places a strong hand against my shoulder and squeezes in a comfortable, very straight guy gesture. We don’t hug or get close anymore, not since I kissed him five years ago. I don’t get close because I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. He doesn’t push the boundary because he doesn’t want to give me the wrong idea.

“People make mistakes, Gabe. You don’t just break up a relationship because of a little mistake.”

“He found out that I had feelings for someone else.”

“Oh.” He drops his hand from my shoulder, and I ache for the warmth

He stares at me, and for a small, hopeful second, I could swear he was looking at my lips. His gaze returns to the water, leaving me to wonder if I imagined the whole thing.

Beep.

A loud knock pulls me from sleep, and it takes me a few seconds to remember I am in a hotel room. The clock reads 2:00 in the morning. The knocking persists, and I wipe sleep from my eyes. Is this Nick? I pull on my boxers and crack the door enough to see Sam there. He is disheveled, tie missing, buttons half undone, jacket wrinkled beyond hope. I pull the door open so he can come inside. He doesn’t hesitate to let himself in.

Once inside, he takes off his jacket and tosses it on the chair.

“Are you alright?” I say, voice still thick with sleep and confusion.

He meets my eyes, and in all the years I have known him, I have never seen this expression on his face. He looks intense, dangerous even.

“Sam?”

His eyes light up, “I broke things off with Lexy.”

“Oh.” I swallow. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” His eyebrows pull together, and he looks over my face carefully before they quickly slide down my chest and back up to my gaze.

“I, I d- don’t want you to be hurt.”

“Do you know that you never stutter in front of anyone else anymore?”

I chew the inside of my cheek.

He steps dangerously close, and I have to step away.

“Please don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” he challenges, coming closer.

Soon, there is nowhere to go, my back is pressed firmly against the door, and my pulse is racing. I can’t seem to decide if I want to see where this goes or flee the room entirely.

“Like you... like you want me.”

“Why?” He whispers. No part of him is touching me, but he is still so close I can feel his warmth.

“Because…” I swallow. And in another uncharacteristic moment of bravery, I maintain his burning stare, and I say exactly what I am thinking. “It means more to me than it does to you.”

He presses his hard body against me, and my body burns where we make contact. “You have no idea what the fuck it means to me.” His mouth crashes into mine.

Beep.

I am slightly dizzy at the top of these bleachers, but I can see perfectly. I hoot and holler for him when he collects his diploma. I am desperate for him to hear me. We have been separated by school and distance for four years, relying on holiday flights and FaceTime. But I am finally here.

“Hell yeah, Sam!” I try to project my voice louder.

His head finally snaps up, homing in on me. He rushes off the stage and runs through the aisles, finally finding the stairs, taking them three at a time to get to me. I rush down the aisles at the same ridiculous speed until he finally gets to me, and we crush our bodies together. He's already pulling me away from the crowd, desperate for a reunion without an audience. When we’re alone, he drops to a knee in front of me.

“Gabriel, please marry me. I have a ring, and we can move wherever you want. I just want to spend the rest of my life with you. Please.” He speaks so quickly, I am afraid I will miss some of the words.

“Of course I’ll marry you,” My voice is thick with too much emotion, and I kiss him.

Beep.

Sam and I are hand in hand on our favorite beach, finally alone after a long, beautiful day. He looks delectable in all white linen.

“We should have eloped,” Sam says, pulling me closer.

I laugh, “Your mother would have killed us.”

“Not if she can’t find us,” he whispers darkly into my ear.

The grin splitting my face hurts my cheeks after a day of smiling.

“Let's go find our suite, husband.”

Beep.

My first art show starts in 30 minutes, and I am breaking out in a cold sweat.

“Relax.” Sam’s cool voice slides over me.

“What if no one buys anything?”

“Then it was good exposure.”

“What if I stutter through my speech?”

“Then everyone will have something to talk about.”

“But what if-.”

“Gabe, no more what-ifs.” Sam’s hands slide over my shoulders, chasing away the tension. “You are ready for this; you have been ready for months.”

I don’t stutter even once.

Beep.

I anxiously tap my foot against the carpet, while Sam paces a hole in the waiting room floor.

“It's taking too long,” he says, his forehead wrinkled in concern.

“It takes as long as it takes,” I sigh. I am trying to have enough patience for both of us, but I am just as worried as he is.

“She’s here,” the nurse's voice cuts through the waiting room. “Do you want to meet her?”

I watch in a daze as the nurse teaches Sam how to hold a baby, showing him how to support her neck.

His eyes are wide and filled with adoration, terror, love, and about a million other emotions.

Her black curly hair reminds me of her father.

“We should name her Samantha,” I say softly, letting her small fingers wrap around my pinky.

Just when I thought my life couldn’t get any fuller.

Beep.

Samantha’s giggles and Sam’s chuckles fill the room after her first steps.

Beep.

Samantha’s first word.

Beep.

Samantha’s gummy smile at her first dance recital.

Beep.

Samantha’s first day of school.

Beep.

Then another waiting room.

Beep.

A suspicious clump of cells.

Beep.

Sam is holding my hand after surgery.

Beep.

Samantha is coloring in the waiting room.

Beep.

Sam and Samantha are crying.

Beep.

Sam is losing sleep.

Beep.

Sam is holding me, clinging to me.

Beep.

The endless beeping in a hospital room.

Beep.

Each memory passes faster and faster, the playlist of my favorite hits playing on repeat. I ache to feel each memory, one more time.

Beep.