I gaze out my window at the blur of passing scenery, the well-built suspension of the big vehicle absorbing almost every bump in the long stretch of desert highway. Each turn of the wheels carries me further east, further away from Los Angeles, from Jared's home in the Hollywood Hills, from my daughter who even now is probably still sound asleep.
Last night was Halloween, and Shelby's slumber party went off without a hitch. I'm glad I hung around long enough to enjoy seeing her so happy and engaged with her friends. Late into the night after trick-or-treating and making a hell of a haul, she and three girl friends hung out in the tower watching scary movies, eating snacks, playing video games. They also sang karaoke—which Jared agreeably joined in on, to the girls' delight—and then the kids chased the kittens around before finally settling down for a long and late giggly night.
I bunch my thick hooded sweatshirt a little more and stuff it between my head and the window to use for a pillow. I hadn't intended on sleeping on the trip at all, but after an evening with the kids, a night of preparation and a pre-dawn departure, I'm tired. It's still very early in the morning, the sun just starting to lighten the sky ahead. It wasn't just last night's festivities with Shelby and her friends—sleep hasn't been in abundance the last few nights. It's catching up to me, and wearily I decide to give in to it if I can.
I don't even know where I'll be when I wake up. I don't particularly care, either. Wherever I end up, it's where I need to be. That's what I told Flora on the phone last night. And repeated to Constance when she arrived early this morning, an understandable look of worry in her eyes as she met me carrying my pack, loaded down with fresh provisions, to the front door.
It's not running away, I told Constance and Flora. It's getting away. There's a difference.
By some miracle, Shelby understood. Or at least acted as though she understood. Maybe she was distracted by the imminent arrival of her guests and the prospect of celebrating Halloween in Hollywood. Whatever the case, she didn't make a fuss, and I'm grateful for it. Late last night, I pulled her aside, hugged her and said I'd see her soon. She hugged me back, we exchanged I love yous, and then she was back to mingling with her friends.
The rumble of the big tires on the blacktop lull me toward sleep and my eyelids obediently flutter closed. But my mind refuses to shut off so easily.
When Jared told me about Ivan Valkov's 'alternate proposal', I could tell this was something he'd never intended me to know about. And a part of me now wishes he hadn't told me. We never spoke of it; I was too angry, too overwhelmed and devastated by everything that had just happened to react right then. And Jared's fragile emotional state afterward made me hold my tongue. Instead, the subject hung in the air between us. Like a question that had no answer.
For a moment or two, I actually contemplate it. I won't lie, I do give it serious thought. Jared's throwing himself on a sword no matter the cost. If that means sleeping with Katia Valkov if she demands it, then that's the price he's willing to pay. Could I do the same, saving not only Jared but virtually removing Katia Valkov from his life? Would it be worth the tradeoff? Would Jared and I recover from it, the way he seems to think we can recover if—when— he sleeps with Katia? And either way, can Ivan be trusted to keep his end of the bargain?
Why am I even asking those questions? Jared would never accept me giving myself to Ivan Valkov to settle their agreement and to keep those photos from getting out. He'll throw himself on the sword, no problem. He'll do whatever Katia wants, no question.
The hum of the engine, the little jostles and bumps lull me further toward sleep, and, though my mind is still a whirlwind of turbulence, of wondering if taking off was the right thing to do, my mind drifts away from the Valkov's as I slip into a semi-peaceful doze. Peaceful, because for the first time I'm no longer afraid of my ex-husband. At least not right now, and not for the immediate future.
Flora was the one to tell us about Todd's arrest. Her brother Fred, a deputy with Lake County back in Minnesota got word and got in contact with his sister immediately, who shared the news with us, her voice quivering with excitement as she told the story. I put my phone on speaker and then Jared and I sat stunned at how anticlimactic it all turned out to be. It's really kind of pathetic and strangely funny when I think about it.
It happened the night after the meeting at Bouchon. A broken tail light was all it took. Well, a broken tail light on an older model Pontiac driven by a known black-market gun dealer from Fresno, a fellow prepper named Anthony something-or-other. The feds had been trying to nail him for months. Part of Todd's network of militia buddies, Anthony is basically a coward at heart. When hauled in for questioning, this Anthony something-or-other sang like a bird, implicating Todd in the gun-running, giving Todd's whereabouts and telling all he knew about the incident at Pharrell William's.
Within hours Todd was apprehended where he was camping out near Venice Beach and a search of his few belongings revealed some heavy weaponry as well as evidence that he was planning to kidnap Shelby the following Halloween night. To my horror, Todd also had in his possession a worn, dog-eared notebook that, along with half-legible paranoid rants, contained more plans—plans for something big. Something very big, and very deadly.
Undoubtedly, Todd will get his attorney to play up on the fact that he has no prior criminal history, that he's a war vet suffering from PTSD, and he'll be granted bail. But first he has to be extradited back to Minnesota where he's facing some heavy charges of meth manufacturing and distribution as well as arson. It's doubtful the judge will be too sympathetic, depending on which one he gets.
***
When I awaken, I'm shocked to discover that first, I've been asleep for several hours—the sun is just past its zenith, so it's around around one in the afternoon by my reckoning. Second, the terrain I find myself surrounded by is wooded, mountainous, and unfamiliar. Huge pines flank the winding switchback highway, with sheer cliffs and more forest in the distance. I straighten up and look around, taking in the cooler, fresher, woods-scented air creeping in through Jared's slightly open driver's side window.
"Good morning," he says, glancing sideways at me. "It's about time, too. We're almost there. Another hour or so to go."
"Where's 'there'?" I ask, still trying to get my bearings. The scenery doesn't provide much in the way of a clue. We could be just about anywhere. Based on how long I was asleep, we're about six hours out of L.A. which could put us in northern California, Nevada, or Arizona.
Jared smiles, and the sight of it stirs a little flutter in me. Despite everything, I'm genuinely happy to see him smile. He seems relaxed for the first time in days, though I know his leg and back have been giving him trouble. It started the night he chased me down in the rain in Beverly Hills, and has been aggravating him since.
"Take a guess where we are," he answers. "And if you give up, just look at your phone." He nods at the console of his Bronco, where my phone sits charging."Or you can wait for a road sign to give you a clue."
I shoot him a grin and then pick up my phone. I open the locator app, and wait for it to load. When it does, I stare at it, open-mouthed. "We're...we're going back?" I raise my eyes and meet Jared's steady blue gaze.
"Yeah, Lanie. We are. We're going back." His right hand leaves the wheel, takes mine, and brings it to his lips. "Given everything that's happened, I can't think of where I'd rather be with you. So yeah. We're going back to The Healing Place."
***
It's a long hike by any standards from where we leave Jared's decked-out vintage Ford Bronco, resplendent with bright flames painted over the hood and sides—vulgar, I had pronounced the first time I ever saw it parked in his mammoth underground garage at the compound. In reply, Jared grinned and explained that it was a gift from Shannon, and the garish paint job is one reason why he loves it so much.
Jared parks the truck off the narrow two-track dirt road where it'll be more or less concealed, and we set off on foot down the same trail Shelby and I hiked toward the towering canyon wall. The same wall Jared had been trying to climb when he fell.
"No climbing," he agrees with me now as the wall comes into view. He's the type of guy that'll push himself, even more now that he's healing so quickly, but even Jared knows he's not ready for a return to rock-climbing. Besides, this trip isn't about that. This trip is about getting back to my comfort zone, back in nature. This trip is about healing. It's about Jared and I, each unwilling to let go of the other. It's a precious and vital piece of time we're giving ourselves because we both need it before Jared flies to London.
Though I no longer worry about Todd lurking around every bend in the trail or cluster of trees, making being here in Oak Creek Canyon fundamentally different than before, I carry my knife in my belt. Because we both need to carry protection from potential dangers—two-footed as well as four—my Max is tucked in Jared's pack which is significantly smaller than mine. He grumbled about me taking the lion's share of supplies on my back when we prepared for the trip, but he sees the wisdom in it. He knows his back and leg wouldn't handle it for long.
I glance over my shoulder at him. Under a wide-brimmed straw hat with a purple band on it, Jared's hair is tied back in a knot. He's wearing a black hoodie, red and white checkered track pants, and hiking boots. His limp is getting noticeable, and I slow down to wait for him.
"I'm walking too fast," I say apologetically. "I'm sorry."
"No, it's fine." But he grimaces a little. "Unless you want to go further, there's a spot I'd really like to check out for making camp. I was there when I was a kid, and I camped there the night before the accident." He points off to the right. "There's no trail to get in there though and the going's a little rough. I'll probably pay for it, too. But trust me, it really is worth it. Come on." Jared steers off the trail, past a huge boulder that must serve as a landmark for him to find the way to this place he wants us to go.
After hesitating a moment, I shrug and follow him, soon realizing Jared was right about the going being a little rough. It's rocky, it's filled with pits in the earth, roots sprouting from the ground threatening to leap up and trip a hiker. And there are a lot of rattlesnakes, given the long, narrow tracks their bodies leave in the open sandy areas of the ground. I've brought along plenty of CroFab, having replenished my supply, and this time I have a phone to use in case of emergencies, but still, the last thing either of us need is an encounter with one of these lethal diamondback rattlers. Especially Jared. While he fully recovered from the previous bite, it was a rough recovery and the fact remains that he nearly died. Very nearly.
No thanks to me leaving him there for hours as the venom worked through his system. As it always does when I think of it, my stomach cramps into a knot of self-recrimination and shame.
My thoughts are pulled away as I detect the sound of rushing water. Jared's led us into a shadowy fissure carved out of the canyon wall, a narrowish passageway. We follow a tributary of the creek that undoubtedly is the creator of this hidden, almost cave-like structure. I look up at the towering red rock on either side of us, listen as the rushing water sound grows closer, echoing from the canyon walls, and then suddenly I know exactly what it is we're heading toward.
The twenty-foot high small but powerful waterfall bursts into view as we step around a cluster of huge boulders and mesquite trees heavy with brown pods, stepping out from the shadows of the narrow passage. The sun strikes the water blindingly bright, casting eldritch rainbows in the misty air.
"Oh, my God," I murmur, awestruck. It's absolutely breathtaking, one of the most beautiful natural places I've ever seen in my life. It seems unreal and magical, almost like something out of a Tolkien novel. Any minute I expect to spot elven creatures scurrying about among the rocks and small trees flanking the waterfall.
Jared stands very close to me and works his hand between my body and my pack to slip an arm around my waist. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"
"We have to camp here," is all I manage to say.
"I knew you would say that," he answers with a smile.
***
I get a shelter put together very quickly. Nothing as big as the one Shelby and I built, though. This one is little more than a pup tent in size and shape, cozy, made mostly of thin flexible branches of willow and pine, supported by thicker branches of oak. Armloads of tall dry grasses cushion the hard ground to make sleeping a little more comfortable.
Meanwhile, Jared sits on the ground near the pool at the base of the waterfall, just out of the reach of the spray from it. He's trying to get the hang of my fireboard and spindle. I give him pointers as I work, and eventually, after several failed attempts, he exclaims in triumph as the dried kindling begins to spark, smoulder, and eventually a flame appears.
I've brought along enough food that we needn't worry about relying on fish or—worse—clams for sustenance. Our chief protein source is the dehydrated seitan I'd experimented with awhile back, trying to make a kind of jerky with it. While it's nowhere close to the real thing, I've seasoned it until it's tasty enough and best of all, it's virtually non-perishable and easily portable. The wild grapes are long out of season, and the mesquite pods are almost past the point of edibility. The puffball mushrooms are now shriveled brown smokebombs dotting the countryside. Prickly pear is one wild food source in abundance this time of year, and I've grabbed all I could find on our trek, nursing a few painful barbs embedded in my hands as a result.
As the sun creeps down, Jared and I sit together at the fire, chewing the tough seitan jerky and sharing a bottle of water. His hand in mine is warm and firm. Eventually, I lay my head in my favorite place— the crook of Jared's shoulder, where I can hear his beating heart. "Thank you," I murmur.
"For what?" He places a gentle kiss on my head.
"For not letting me do this alone."
A heavy sigh. "I know you wanted to leave days ago, Lanie. I know you said Shelby's the reason you didn't, and I'm sure that's a big part of it, but I'd like to think that there was more that held you there. I'd like to think you want to try to get through this together as much as I do, and that's why we're both here."
I nod against his shoulder. "You're right." I stare into the flames another moment. I listen as the sounds of nightfall fill the air. Crickets, night birds, the quiet rustle of the trees as the desert breeze trickles down into the canyon. I listen as I summon my courage before I speak again.
"Jared, I want you to tell me about Kristov."
He doesn't stiffen the way I expect him to, but I detect something, a kind of reluctance in him nonetheless. It might be the way he catches his breath, or it might be the way I feel and hear his heart speed up just a little at my words. "Did you love him?" I ask.
I feel Jared swallow hard, hear the dry click in his throat. He brings the water bottle to his lips and drinks as I sit up and look at him. His eyes are on me as he pulls the bottle away and sets it down. "Did I love him? That's a complicated question, with a very complicated answer. He was a good friend."
"I don't mean that kind of love. I mean—"
"I know what you mean," Jared says. "Did I love him as in, was I in love with him? I was, yeah. Very much so. Which is why everything got fucked up."
"Because you had sex," I say quietly.
Jared looks away. I reach out and touch his cheek, turning him to face me again. With the firelight dancing in his eyes, it's hard to read his emotions clearly. "Right?"
His jaw works, his eyes narrow, but he nods. "It was more than that. It was the situation." He passes a hand over his face. "My relationship with Kristov is not something I've ever really spoken about, for obvious reasons."
I nod. Of course it isn't. "You can tell me," I say. "I want you to tell me."
Jared picks up the water bottle again. Studying the firelight reflecting off of its plastic surface, he sighs. "It's all in the past, and that's where it needs to stay, but—" he breaks off and sighs again. "But I guess I owe it to you to tell you how I got to where I am now. Not just with Ivan and Katia, but with me. Because that does affect you."
I don't say anything to this, but I take his hand in mine again, in that simple gesture telling him that it's okay—whatever he has to tell me, I'm here, I'm listening, and that speaks louder than any words I can say.
***
The video for Hurricane was one of the most ambitious music videos to date for the band. Certainly the most controversial. Jared had a specific vision for the video, making it into a short film like others that Mars had done previously under his direction. The content would be decidedly dark, decidedly sexual, and decidedly violent.
They shot while on tour for the album, spending a few days in New York City, another few in Chicago and Indianapolis shooting scenes featuring the band. Jared also brought in a bevy of actors to appear in the project besides himself, Shannon and Tomo. There were women who'd be naked or nearly so. There were other women who'd engage in BDSM activities, with Jared and with each other.
As Jared wrote the scenes, a thought occurred to him. This video was to be about exploring fantasies and sexuality and it would do that, but while there was hetero action and girl/girl action, there was nothing in terms of male/male sexual activity. And in all fairness, Jared thought, there should be.
Jared considered hiring two gay actors, but then he changed his mind. If he was going to get freaky with girls on film and if he was going to be true to his vision, then he would have to get freaky with a guy on film. Nothing as explicit as the girls. Implied sex...perhaps some skin, some caresses, maybe even a quick glimpse of a kiss with plenty of tongue. Yeah, that'd do it.
Jared mulled over choices of who'd be right for the other guy. One of these was a close friend of his, a drop-dead gorgeous and very closeted gay Russian model Jared had met a few years previously while on tour. They'd become very close friends, and given the vision he had for the video, Jared knew Kristov Belneczek was the perfect person for the scenes he had in mind. Great hair, great body, and most of all, someone Jared felt he could trust.
It was a risk, though. For himself, and especially for Kristov, whose father was a high-ranking Russian government official. Homosexuality was more than frowned upon in Russia—being gay was dangerous, especially for the son of a politician, as well as for that politician himself.
But Jared wanted Kristov and no one else. If he was going to do this, and do it on film, he would only do it with someone he was already close to and trusted implicitly. So Jared made the phone call to his good friend, who immediately agreed to a test shoot that would be kept completely secret.
If it worked out, Kristov could be masked for the video clips, both concealing his identity and in keeping with the whole bondage and fetish theme. For the test shoot, however, no costumes, no masks. Just the two them, in a kind of experiment. Just to see if Jared could go through with it at all before investing any more time in it.
Kristov flew to New York and met Jared at the hotel. Accompanying Jared was Terry Richardson, the man who'd agreed to take the photos. In turn, Terry agreed to hand over the negatives and photographs when the shoot was completed and swore the entire thing to utmost secrecy.
As he set up for the shoot, Terry tried his best to put Jared and Kristov at ease. "Just act natural and pretend I'm not even here," he suggested.
"Yeah, right," Jared mumbled. His face was growing hot. His nerves were a mess, and he wondered if he could do this. Sure, he was curious. He'd been bi-curious for a long time, and God knew Kristov Belneczek was way beyond attractive, but curiosity and actually doing something about it were two different things. It was too weird. Wasn't it? But if it was, then why was his cock already springing to life before they'd even done anything?
Kristov stepped up and slowly began to unbutton Jared's shirt, his dark eyes fixed on Jared's as his fingers brushed lightly over his friend's skin as it was revealed. Jared shivered at his touch and licked his lips. The scent of Kristov's cologne filled his senses—woodsy, earthy, a hint of spice. Across the room, Terry's camera clicked. Jared swallowed hard. He'd expected to be nervous. What he didn't expect was to be so suddenly and incredibly turned on. When Kris stepped closer, cupping Jared's face in his hands and leaning in for a kiss, Jared's eyes closed automatically, anticipating.
"I think you know that I've wanted you for a long time, Jared," Kristov breathed softly. "Relax."
"I'm trying." Jared's voice shook with both terror and excitement. "Kris, I—"
"Shhh. Trust me. I won't do anything you don't want me to," Kristov whispered and kissed him. Gently, carefully, his tongue slipped in Jared's mouth.
It should have been gross. It should have freaked him out. Instead, Jared's head swam with the strange but incredibly exciting sensation of a man's flesh pressed intimately against his own, at the unfamiliar scratchiness of Kris's facial hair scraping against his skin. Kristov's hands began to explore Jared's body. Sure fingers played along his ribs, his waist, and then his hips where they settled. After another moment of nervous hesitation, Jared's hands followed suit, mimicking Kristov's every movement.
Oh, my God. This is incredible, Jared thought incoherently. This might go way beyond a test shoot. This might go all the way. The thought sent another surge of heat from his loins, shooting through his body that throbbed and ached for more.
It wasn't long until Jared forgot that Terry was in the room capturing this all on film. He surrendered himself to more kisses, more touches, then to Kristov's nakedness and his own.
Hard male flesh crushed against hard male flesh. Hands and mouths touching, tasting, exploring. He and Kristov found themselves entwined on the bed as their mutual passion took over, and any remaining inhibitions Jared may have had evaporated. It was immediately clear that Kristov took a dominant approach to lovemaking, and Jared, though unused to giving over control, submitted himself entirely to all that Kristov wanted.
Later, Terry developed the film in a makeshift darkroom he set up in the bathroom. Awash in—not regret, exactly, but a kind of frightened and confused embarrassment—Jared collected the negatives and all of the photographs from Terry. He stood there wrapped in a robe, red-faced and stammering out a mumbled—explanation? Apology? He didn't know. He didn't know what to think, what to say. Across the room, Kristov lay asleep in the bed, his luscious long dark hair spread across the pillow. Jared looked at his newest lover and despite himself, he wanted Kristov all over again. His cock stirred at the thought of what was to come. More, he hoped. A lot more.
Terry finished packing up his gear and he gave Jared a long look. "I've done some erotic photoshoots in my day," he said. "Straight, gay, lesbian, groups, the works—but this? My friend, this took the prize. My God, Jay, that was nothing short of beautiful."
Yeah, it was, Jared thought, still confused, still reeling. He'd just had the most incredible, mind-blowing sex of his life and it was with another guy. How was he supposed to feel about that? He fixed Terry with a look. "I trust you understand why this has to be between the three of us, Terry. Not a word. Not to anyone. As far as you're concerned, you weren't ever here, and this did not happen. Understand?"
Terry pushed his glasses up on his nose and sighed, picking up his bag of gear and slinging it over his shoulder. "Jared, please. I understand perfectly."
And Terry was true to his word. The activities the photoshoot captured remained a secret. As did Jared Leto and Kristov Belneczek's passionate love affair, which took place across three continents over the course of several months. Jared gave Kristov the five best photos from the shoot along with their negatives, keeping the rest of them securely locked in a safe where they remain to this day.
As the finishing shoots for Hurricane were wrapping up, Jared decided not to include any scenes with himself and Kristov in them. Something about putting what he and Kris had together, even in microshot single-frame inserts strewn among plenty of other erotic scenes, rubbed him the wrong way. It was special. It was private. And it had to stay that way.
I'm not gay, Jared told himself repeatedly as time went on. And he wasn't. He was absolutely sure he wasn't. He still enjoyed women. He was still attracted to women. He had plenty of sex with women during his relationship with Kristov, perhaps out of need to prove that some switch inside him that he'd never known about hadn't been flipped. But still, the affair went on. The two met every chance they could, spending a night here in one city, two nights there in another, wherever and whenever they could carve out time together.
But something changed. The friendship they'd once enjoyed prior to making love had changed into something else. They no longer could just hang out and talk. They didn't discuss fashion or current events, nor movies, art, and music as they always had. The sex was incredible, but out of bed there was a different quality to their relationship than what there once was.
As time passed, Kristov became neurotic, jealous, possessive, and increasingly frustrated at the need they both had for absolute secrecy. He was well aware that Jared was seeing women and it incensed him. He accused Jared of flaunting his conquests deliberately. Their occasional time together, once so anticipated and cherished, became the sites of battle.
Finally, the situation resolved itself. Mars was touring Russia and Jared snuck a night away during a four-night stop in St. Petersburg, where he and Kristov immediately holed up in a posh hotel and got reacquainted. But the following day, Kristov's father, Yuri, summoned his son home to Moscow for a talk. Someone—probably an operative of Yuri's —had spied them walking hand in hand and kissing during a late night stroll through a beautiful park they'd thought was deserted. Word immediately reached the Kremlin, and Yuri demanded Kristov never see Jared again, or else. Kristov knew who to listen to, knew what could happen to him if he didn't. His status as Yuri's son held no weight over his father's political ambitions and his loyalty to Vladmir Putin.
The next time Kristov and Jared spoke it was over the phone, and they said their goodbyes.
Kristov's voice was quiet, toneless, devoid of any emotion, at least on the surface. "If things were different, I'd tell Yuri to go to hell and I'd come to America to live. You and I could be together forever, together openly—but your career—your lust for women—it's impossible. I should have known it would be impossible." His voice finally broke at the end of it.
"I'm so sorry, Kris," Jared replied softly, and he meant it. He too was heartbroken. But at the same time, he also felt an enormous weight lift from his shoulders at their parting. Not because he couldn't handle being actively bisexual. He enjoyed the hell out of that. But the threat of discovery darkened every blissful moment and turned it into something shameful, and because having sex with someone he'd cared deeply for had so completely altered what had been a wonderful friendship. And as good as the sex had been between them, it wasn't worth losing the special relationship they'd once had.
***
I sit, still holding Jared's hand as his voice trails off. I watch him carefully as he stares, unblinking, into the dying flames of our little campfire. A tear forms and slips down his cheek. It's only one tear, but it's enough. It breaks me. It rips me apart from the inside out. All my heart wants to do is reach out and wrap itself around his.
It explains so much about Jared, about why he is the way he is. It explains why sex and love haven't coexisted in his world, and why he held himself away from me physically, even though it was plain he didn't want to. It explains why he'll still do what he needs to do to protect Kristov.
But there is one thing I still don't understand. "Katia. How did he end up married to Katia?"
Jared shakes his head. "That happened because Yuri and Ivan are business associates going back years. They'd always talked about uniting the families by marrying them, but Katia's modeling career took her one way, and Kris being gay, that took him another way. After he and I split, Kristov fell into a deep depression. His career suffered, he was deeply in debt, screwing any guy that looked twice at him, and as I hear it, he was starting to mess around with drugs. Finally, Yuri talked to Ivan, and Ivan made Kris an offer he couldn't refuse. Kris would gain himself a beard, get his modeling career back on track and Ivan would wipe his debts clean. In turn, Yuri brokered a number of lucrative international business deals for Ivan. Most of them illegal, I bet."
"Oh. So it had nothing to do with you. Not then."
"No. I wouldn't meet Katia for another few years. Ivan was behind it, but I'm guessing Kris encouraged her to go for it, too." He sighs heavily. "I knew she was married to a Russian model but the name I heard wasn't Kris's. The rumor mill got it wrong, and she never told me it was Kristov. So I never knew. Not until she showed up with him at the VMA's this past August."
"But obviously she knew about you and Kris, right?"
Jared nods. "Oh yeah. She knew from day one. I just didn't know she knew until the VMA's. She smiled, told me I was free to go have fun with Kris, and she left."
I swallow hard. "And...did you?"
Jared closes his eyes. "Lanie...I...no. I didn't." He opens them and looks directly at me. "I won't lie to you, though. I wanted to, but no, I didn't. I hung out with the guys and then I went home. Alone. A couple of weeks later, I took off and came right here, right to this place."
I study Jared in the firelight, not saying anything at first. He gazes back, a cautious, tense expression on his face, and then he says, his voice catching a little, "Please tell me I didn't just fuck everything up with you more by telling you all of this."
Oh, God. Jared's just opened up to me in a way he's probably never opened up to anyone outside of his brother. His face is filled with fear now. I have to choose my words carefully, but I have to choose words right now. And they have to be the right words. So I choose the ones my mind is speaking loudest and most urgently.
"I love you, Jared. And I love you all the more for trusting me with something that's so difficult for you to talk about."
His face softens instantly. He opens his arms and I slide into them, closing my eyes as he pulls me tightly against his body, trembling with pent-up emotions set free at last. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you." He keeps repeating it in a whisper, and I feel the warm wetness of his tears as they fall against my cheek to mix with my own.