Chapter Five [Liam]

Gus brings it up for the first time during second period English class.

He brings it up for the first time that day, I mean. In reality, he's been pestering me with this for a full month. And he tried a couple of times before the end of summer too.

As your textbook case of small-town USA, it's safe to say neither Brunson nor its upper-class neighbor Lake City are overflowing with a supply of gay nightclubs. Or any nightclubs, for that matter. Mostly because the demand isn't all that abundant either.

But two months ago, Gus heard about this place within driving distance of Brunson, about an hour outside of Moscow, that is classified on its own website as a gay nightclub. It's called The Hub. Which is neither the most captivating nor the most original name. And I say this, perfectly aware that my father's resort's lodge-like restaurant and bar area is called The Lodge.

Gus brings it up again at lunch, but he pipes down pretty quickly, because I have Mack by my side to shut him down with the usual vicious finesse. Natalie takes the opportunity to say that she doesn't think we should even be considering sneaking out to a twenty-one-and-up club at all. Especially in the middle of the school year.

And I don't know if it's the pseudo-rebellious one-percenter seedling in me, but her disapproval — regardless of how sound of logic and responsible it is — kind of makes me want to agree to go.

So, naturally, when Gus brings it up again after school, when we're together in the Ice Arena's locker room getting ready for practice without the girls in sight, I almost feel like saying 'yes'. So... I do.

That's how I find myself, later that same day, standing in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom, with a half-buttoned up admiral-blue shirt, only one shoe, and my phone pressed between my shoulder and cheek. Mack's sigh crackles heavily through the phone line as I lower myself on one knee to put my other shoe on.

"I dunno..."

"Why not?" I ask.

"Because I don't wanna," she mumbles.

"You can't let me go out, on a Friday night, alone with Gus."

"Except I totally can."

"I thought this would be right up your alley. This is exactly why we got those fake IDs."

I would've lowered my voice on that last part, but there are a couple of details to take into account here. Firstly, this is a huge-ass house and my parents' room is on a whole other level. Secondly, my parents aren't home at all. And lastly, Leah's speakers blasting BTS's Dynamite would draw out a jet engine.

"Yeah, but Nat made me practice my Lutz today, and now my ass is bruised," Mack complains.

Here's another detail about my present situation. Natalie is not aware I am currently getting ready to go out with Gus. Neither can she ever find out, under any circumstance.

I love the girl, I do. I wouldn't hang out with her if I didn't — even though Nat and Chloe are basically attached at the hip since freshmen year. However, her morals are just too firmly set. And that's the sort of influence I find highly detrimental.

"Just come anyway. It's a gay nightclub. I can assure you nobody will go anywhere near your ass."

"I'm already wearing my pajamas, and I have Jane The Virgin ready to press play," she argues.

I reflect silently for a second.

"The smiling tacos pajamas?" I ask.

"Precisely."

I roll my eyes with a huff. "Fine. Be boring for a night. See if I care."

"You can always ask Chloe."

"Not likely."

Unlike Natalie, Chloe's morals are quite more neutral. Practically non-existent. Her sense of responsibility is solely focused on skating and school — aka, her parental pressure points. Everything else is irrelevant. She wouldn't care that I'm planning to go to a nightclub illegally, but she would never come with me. For one, her parents would never allow it — she can't even spend the night at Nat's without her parents having to call Natalie's. And, for two, it's just not her thing.

"I'm totally still telling my parents I'm spending the night at yours," I say.

"Want me to send you a picture of myself gobbling down a full tub of Double Belgian Chocolate Chip so you can send your mom as proof?"

"No need. She won't ask."

"I'm gobbling down a full tub of Double Belgian Chocolate Chip anyway."

"I would be disappointed if you didn't."

My sister's music ceases and there are steps in the hallway outside, followed by a knock on my door. I stand up, letting Mack go to her boring night in, and walk to open my bedroom door. Leah looks up from her phone, tucking a long strand of dark-brown hair behind her ear.

"Do you want to order food?"

"Nope. I'm going out."

My sister's eyes narrow suspiciously. "Where?"

"Mack's. Spending the night."

She rolls her eyes. "Right. As if you'd dress like that to go to Mack's." She leans in slightly to sniff the air near my chest. "Did you put on perfume?"

"No. That's just my natural scent. I naturally smell like Creed Aventus."

"Uh. And here I thought I smelled bullshit."

"Hey. Watch your language, missy." I point a warning finger at her, grabbing my wallet and keys from my bed. "And feed Grandma."

She already has her back to me on that last part and her bedroom door shuts as soon as I'm done talking.

Gus makes me wait a whole of ten minutes once I'm parked in front of his house. Which is outrageous, seen as I texted him five minutes before leaving mine. His directions to this club aren't the most trust-inspiring either. He keeps taking things back and frowning at his phone.

"Right. No, left. No, right, right, right."

"There is no right and no left, Gus. It's just one road straight ahead," I cry.

"Then keep going and turn right on the first chance you get," Gus tells me.

I want to tell him to get out of the car right then and there, make a U-turn and drive right back to Lake City. This is the second time during our car ride in which he told me to turn when there was nowhere to turn, the fifth time he's frantically changed directions, and I'm mostly mad at myself for not having seen this coming.

Joke's on me for saying yes to going out with him in the first place. Gus is best kept in controlled, familiar environments, where it's easier to predict his spurts of absurdity.

"That's it! That building over there."

I lean forward to get a better look at the infrastructure past my windshield.

"You mean the brick warehouse straight out of any serial killer movie ever?" I ask.

"It looks like that on the outside, but it looks like this on the inside." He turns his phone toward me to let me have a look at the pictures of people dancing inside a semi-fashionably decorated room.

I park between two old, dusty cars and we make our way to the short line of people waiting to get in. The line moves steadily forward and soon enough we're inside.

It looks just like the pictures. There's a DJ booth to the back, and a dozen colored spotlights hanging from the ceiling to project blue, green and purple in different patterns onto the dance floor. Leather sofas line the walls to one side, and a bar counter stretches along the opposite side.

This isn't our first time in a nightclub. We tried our fair share during our summer in Malibu, including a multitude of LGBT-friendly places. Not surprisingly, the gay nightclub just outside Moscow, Idaho has nothing on the smallest, trashiest club we visited in Malibu. But I think it'll do.

It's not too crowded, even though it's a Friday night, but that's actually a good thing to anyone who enjoys moving around without grinding on four different strangers at the same time.

"It's nice, right?" Gus yells in my ear.

The music in the background is loud enough to draw his voice almost entirely out, but the beat thumping over it makes it impossible to tell which song is actually playing.

"We should get drinks," I shout, and point at the bar in case he can't hear me.

He follows me through the sea of bodies, putting a hand on my shoulder to keep me in sight. As we wait for a bartender to notice us, I take the time to have a look around. Most of the men in here have to be college students, which makes sense so close to the university. But there are a few who look old enough to be my father. Except they definitely do not look like my father.

"What're you having?"

I turn around to face the gelled-haired bartender as he leans over the counter, muscular arms exposed in the sleeveless tank top he's wearing. A bold choice for northern Idaho in the fall.

"Two rum and cokes, please," I order.

His lips twist into a cheeky smile. "Sure thing, preppy."

With our drinks in hand, the two of us move to the center of the dance floor. I'll admit, once the rum kicks in and I start enjoying the music, Gus's idea  doesn't feel so catastrophically dumb. It's not the flashy Malibu nightlife, but it definitely beats the one restaurant-slash-bar in the Brunson-Lake City area that my dad doesn't own.

Gus is definitely having fun too. My eyebrows arch up as I notice a guy emerge from the dancing crowd to approach my friend from behind. The dude has to be at least five years older. At first, I'm on my guard. One thing Malibu did teach us all was how to spot and deal with night creeps.

But Gus's lips curl into an almost-proud little smile as the stranger's hands rest on his hips, so I back off. God knows I had my fun in the summer; if he's okay with this, so should I.

I can't really tell how much time goes by, but I eventually start to feel the need for another drink. I call it 'need', in the same way my little sister needs the latest BTS album, or my mom needs a pair of shoes to match each bag. Basically, I just want it, and I can have it, so why the hell not.

I lean into Gus to tell him what's on my head. He nods to let me know he agrees and I can see him follow me back to the bar, after saying something in his dancing partner's ear.

We get the bartender's attention and order two more rums with coke. When we get our drinks, I see Gus's 'friend' coming our way.

One of the moving spotlights hanging from the ceiling casts green light over his face, and I can properly make out his features for the first time. He's not unattractive, but not exactly my type. He's considerably short for the width of shoulders he has, giving him a stout built. His face is round and broad, with small eyes and a kind of blobby nose crooked at the bridge like it's been broken before. But he has a nice jawline, and an impressively muscular chest that bulges out of his t-shirt.

I watch as Blobby Nose leans into Gus to say something in his ear. Gus gives this sort of counterfeit laugh, like he's just trying not to be rude, and Blobby smiles before leaning in again. My eyebrows raise once again, as I watch Gus shake his head to whatever this guy says to him.

If I could actually hear what they're saying, I wouldn't have to go off on instincts alone. That said, I'm pretty sure the tense grip Gus has around his drink and the way he's not quite meeting his admirer's eager gaze is a sign he's no longer comfortable.

I lean into my friend, shouting loud enough for Blobby Nose to hear at least partially, "It's getting late. Maybe we should go."

Gus looks at me, almost like he wants to say that it's still early, but then his eyes glance ever-so-briefly toward his new 'friend', and he smiles.

"You're right."

Before Blobby has time to try and weight in, I grab Gus's arm non-too-gently and pull him behind me to the exit. We're halfway towards my car, in the middle of the deserted parking lot, when someone calls out to get our attention. We make the mistake of stopping and looking over our shoulders.

"Leaving already?" The guy from the club asks, walking up to catch up with us. "I thought we were having fun in there, baby."

Gus is visibly uncomfortable with the pet name. "Yeah, we have a long drive home," he offers up as justification.

I wish he wouldn't say anything. Especially anything regarding where we're going and where we live. I look around the parking lot. There isn't a soul around. The only people here are us. And, although there is two of us and one of him, I'd really rather just go home.

"Let your friend drive back. I can take you home later," Blobby offers.

I scoff audibly. "He's fine."

"Maybe you should let your friend decide that for himself."

Gus looks too distressed to respond. He's always been the kind to shut down in critical moments. To be honest, I'm not the best at handling conflicts myself. Usually, I have Natalie and Chloe to help me prevent the conflict in the first place, and Mack to help me through the shit if it gets to it. I guess you could say the boys in our little clique aren't the most resourceful of the group.

"I just said we're going home, okay? Leave him alone."

I try to go for Mack's very straightforward, no-bullshit, calm tone whenever she deals with pushy people. Somehow, when it comes from my mouth, it doesn't seem to have the same fruitful effect. Maybe I said it wrong.

Blobby steps right into my personal space, in that alpha-male, all-chest kind of way way. Except I'm about an inch taller than him, so he can't quite look down at me. Still, he's about twice the size of me from shoulder to shoulder. I want to step back, but a stupid voice in my head — the kind of voice boys should never listen to — tells me that's a cop out.

I wish I had copped out. If I had, I wouldn't have been punched.

When his fist collides with my face, I stumble back and bend over slightly, touching a hand to the afflicted area. I barely have time to react before there's a beefy hand wrapped around the back of my neck and a fist digging into my stomach.

I can feel my body hit the asphalt. I'm vaguely aware of Gus's strangled cry of shock. A sharp pain into my side makes me think that he's kicked the toe of his shoe just bellow my ribs. Everything else after that is mostly just a blur of pain.

***

So... Yeah :)

Bet some of you thought Liam was going to see Eli at this club... Any thoughts on what's next?

If you liked it, please feel free to vote and comment. I always love to know what you think of the chapters!