“Anyway, I just think sometimes it’s not quite so clear-cut,” River concluded. “And by the way, you probably wouldn’t know if he was in witness protection. I mean, that’s kind of the whole idea.”
They said it casually, and half-joking, but it made Adam realize that he actually didn’t know that much about Wes. So much of the time they’d spent together had focused on what Adam and Gus needed—hanging the lights, show-and-tell, estate sales, Gus’ interest in Wes’ critters. And when they’d talked about Wes, it had mostly been about his research and experiments.
Most of what Adam knew about Wes came from observing his behavior. Adam knew he was kind and generous and patient because he’d seen him be all those things. And, of course, funny and smart and hot as hell.
In fact, most of what Adam knew about Wes’ past was about the unfortunate experience he’d had with acting and his father.
...And how he absolutely hated attention. The kind of attention that Adam’s Instagram posts had brought down on the street.
Oh, no.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Wes
Wes hadn’t slept since ending things with Adam.
Since the night before the strangers with their phones and the newscaster with her camera had shattered his conviction that he could be a normal person living a normal life with another person in the world.
He’d plastered the windows with paper and locked the door, and it had still taken hours for him to stop shaking; to realize that the cameras hadn’t been there for him. And that likely they wouldn’t be back.
With realization came despair.
First it was What the hell have I done. Then, when he’d calmed down a bit, it was How do I fix this. In that mode, he’d picked up his phone a dozen times, fingers hovering over messages to Adam that said NEVER MIND I JUST PANICKED I AM SO DAMN SORRY! Then, seeing the messages he actually had sent to Adam, he’d cringed and moved on to They’re better off without me. Swift on its heels: God, I miss them.
Finally, rage. Rage at himself for still not being over this reaction. Then rage at his father for all of it. By that time, it was the next day—his father’s birthday—and Wes picked up and put down his phone all over again.
Janice and Banana had been very happy to have him awake the night before, back to their nocturnal schedule, and had gamboled around, scratching at the piles he’d made for them in their enclosure. But come morning, when they’d crashed, Wes hadn’t gone to bed.
And now, hours later, he picked up his phone one more time, and this time, he dialed.
His father answered in the hearty, hail-fellow-well-met voice he used for journalists, producers, and now, it seemed, his son.
“Happy birthday,” Wes said, because his mind went blank of every other thing he wanted to say.
“Well, thank you. I’m surprised to hear from you.”
“Yeah.”
An awkward silence during which Wes could hear the jazzy Christmas music his parents had played during December since he was a child.
Wes walked to the periscope and looked at Adam and Gus’ house. The lights were off and all he could see was the flicker that meant the TV was on in the living room. He wondered if Gus’ kale plant was still glowing or if the luciferase had worn off.
He wondered what Gus and Adam were watching. He wondered if Adam had told Gus he wouldn’t be around anymore.
He wondered a lot of things he’d probably never know the answers to. Not as long as his only access to them was through this damned periscope.
Adam’s voice on the phone had been so hurt and confused. Shocked.
“Westley, are you there?” came his father’s oil-slick voice.
Wes intended to say, “What are you doing for your birthday this year.” But what came out instead was quite different.
“You weren’t a very good father.”
“Excuse me?” Nigel Brennan said, voice now cold as ice.
It was the voice the public never heard—except for the brief arc where he’d played his own evil twin on Edge of Day. That voice had made Wes shudder when his father slid into it in response to Wes’ revelation that he was done with show business and it made him shudder now.
He kept his eyes fixed on Adam and Gus’ house through the periscope, remembered how it had felt to be up on their roof, with the big sky around him and the cold wind nipping at his ears. When he’d hung lights, he hadn’t worried about the neighbors seeing him because he’d been focused on making Gus and Adam happy. He remembered how it felt to speak to Gus’ classmates about Bettie. Though he’d been nervous at first, he hadn’t worried about them looking at him because none of them found him even one-tenth as interesting as his tarantula.
The newscaster had scared him. Terrified him, in fact. But even she had only cared about what he might have to say about Adam and Gus’ lights.