by J. A. Rock
“I’m glad Billy’s the oldest,” Jim had whispered to Bel that night. “Glad I didn’t have to do it.”
“Me too,” Bel had whispered back, and they’d both worshipped Billy a little more from that moment.
Bel almost wished Billy was here now, to tell them what to do, how to sort this out. Knock their heads together if that’s what it took. This must be how Daniel felt most times, needing someone to tell him. Needing to know someone could make it right.
Bel needed that right now. Someone who could give him advice. And not just about Jim, but about Daniel too. Last night still made him feel sick. The blood. The way Daniel had thought he wouldn’t notice, or maybe that he’d just keep going anyway. Mostly the way Daniel couldn’t tell the difference between needing pain and needing to feel safe, and getting them mixed up somehow in his head.
Probably wasn’t anyone on the planet Bel could talk to about that.
He wants to hurt, really hurt, and he wanted to make me the one who did it.
He wondered if Daniel’s ex from the city, Marcus, had felt sick like this.
“He matters to me,” Bel ground out, watching Jim’s face fall. “And that’s all I can tell you.”
“It don’t make sense, Joe,” Jim said, a note of pleading in his voice.
Bel shrugged. “Makes sense to me.”
Without another word, Jim turned and left.
Bel heard the screen door slam a few times behind him before the latch caught.
He sat down heavily on the couch.
Wondered if this was another bridge burned.
If eventually he’d be left standing in a pile of ashes with no place left to go.
* * *
Daniel opened his sketchbook and tore out a piece of paper. Sat on the bed and tapped his pen against his thigh. He’d wanted to make a list before he went, to ground or center himself or whatever John was always going on about. But every idea he came up with seemed stupid, inadequate.
How I’m Feeling.
I’ve fucking been better.
Things I Wish I Could Say to Bel.
I could say anything to him. I just don’t.
Stuff I Wish I Could Change.
Goddamn pathetic. Not going down that road.
He settled on What I Got to Do Today.
- Check on garden
- Hydrate
- See Mom and Dad
- Text Bel
- Go fight Clayton
He paused, then added:
- Go walking with Bel
He stuck the list back in the sketch pad, grabbed his keys, and left the house. Headed up the road a bit.
Stopped at Mr. Roan’s house, but decided not to knock and bother him. He looked at the garden. It really did need weeding. He stepped over the chicken wire and pulled the worst of the mess out. It was a cool day, but not too bad. Tonight the moon was supposed to be one of those big yellow ones. He was dumb to think he’d get to go walking with Bel. Even if Daniel won the fight, if Bel found out . . .
Everyone’ll find out. It’s Logan.
Daniel was terrified to jeopardize what he had with Bel, especially when he’d already done so much damage last night. Bel had put so much effort into understanding Daniel, forgiving him. And now Daniel had to ask Bel to forgive him once more. To understand that Daniel couldn’t be free until he fought his demons himself. Not in therapy. Not by leaving Logan and trying to forget what had happened here. But by confronting them head-on.
He thought about the bug spray, the magazine, the fire, the pig’s head, the paint on his car. The fear he lived in because of Clayton McAllister. The way part of his mind had believed, until now, that he had to sit quietly and take it, because it was what he deserved for Kenny Cooper.
And then Bel had come along and made him believe he deserved better.
I deserve to hurt.
Bel didn’t buy that. He didn’t let Daniel hurt.
Daniel wiped his forehead. Cast a look through the windows of Mr. Roan’s house. Saw the old man pottering around inside. Then he stepped out of the garden and walked back to his car.
He ate lunch at the diner in town. Sue-Ellen didn’t bat an eye, just brought him coffee like he was any other customer. Whatever progress he’d made in Logan over the last few weeks—and it wasn’t much, but it was something—he’d kill it all if he kicked Clayton’s ass. He’d be everyone’s enemy again. But that was okay, because when he kicked Clayton’s ass, he’d be free.
Fuckin’ free.
He finished lunch and asked for a slice of pie. Left Sue-Ellen a big tip.
Then he drove to his parents’ house. His mother answered the door.
“Daniel,” she said in that formal way she said his name now. “Come in.”
It was so dark in the house compared to outside. Depressed Daniel to go in. The living room smelled like the same potpourri his mother had been buying since Daniel’s childhood.
They sat at the kitchen table. She brought him a glass of water. He drained it and immediately got up to fill it again.
Daniel heard his father creaking down the stairs. His stomach tightened. A second later, his father came into the kitchen. “Dan,” he said. He stuck out his hand, and Daniel shook it. Daniel couldn’t speak for a minute. Hadn’t heard his father call him Dan in years.
“How’s your— How’s work?” Daniel asked, glancing back and forth between both of them. He’d promised he wasn’t going to waste time with small talk, but he still had a while before he had to start driving to Bolton Farm, and any plan for what he’d wanted to say had vanished as soon as his father had come into the room.
“Oh.” Daniel’s mother looked at his father, then back at Daniel. “It’s fine. We hired a new director last week. So that’s taken some getting used to.”
Daniel nodded.
“The plant’s good,” Daniel’s father said, hiking up his pants and taking a seat at the table. “What about the library?”
“Fine,” Daniel said, reminding himself not to look down. To keep looking at them. “Same as always.”
“So what brings you here?” His mother’s gaze kept flitting to the window, as though she expected to see half the neighborhood peering in.
“I been thinkin’ about what you said. About maybe goin’ off somewhere and gettin’ help.” He paused. He could hear his father breathing. His mother had her arms wrapped around her like she was cold. There was a fly on the apple in the fruit basket, and Daniel watched it rub its front legs together. “I just want you to know I’m getting out of here. This—this mess I’m in. I’m gonna fix it.”
His mother dropped her arms to her sides and tried to smile. “Well. That’s great, Daniel. Really. Are you . . . are you going to a hospital?”
Daniel shook his head. “No. But, uh, I wanted to say thanks for the money. I ain’t taking it, but thanks. And I’m sorry for . . .” Shit. He wasn’t gonna choke now. “Sorry for everything. Sorry I’m not— Sorry.”
“We know it’s not your fault,” his father said, but he said it in a wary sort of a way, as though he expected to be struck down at any second for letting a lie like that pass his lips. He looked to Daniel’s mother, something helpless in his gaze. What am I supposed to say next?
She looked away.
“You, um, you used to call me Dan all the time, Dad, you remember?” Daniel asked.
“I did?” A small frown creased his dad’s forehead, deepening the wrinkles there.
Daniel nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak. Stared at the tablecloth instead.
Only called me Daniel when I was in trouble, when you were telling me off. Then it stuck. Then I was Daniel for good, even when you weren’t mad. Even when you forgot what you were angry about, it stuck.
His dad cleared his throat. “Your parole is almost up. You leaving after that?”
“Yeah.” Probably straight back to jail, though they didn’t need to know that. To jail, and meds that messed up his head, but Clayton would know then, wouldn’t h
e? Clayton would know what it was like to feel scared, to feel hurt. To feel what it was like to choke on his own fucking teeth.
He thought of his list.
- Go walking with Bel
That wasn’t going to happen, was it? That had been a stupid thing to write down, because however this thing with Clayton ended, he wouldn’t be walking with Bel again. Daniel knew better than that.
Just like he should have known better than to come back into this house, wanting something that wasn’t there anymore. Hadn’t been for a long time.
“I should go,” he said.
They didn’t stop him. Didn’t say anything.
“I should go,” he repeated, and rose to his feet. Felt like crying, or screaming, or something. Just ran his fingers along the tablecloth as he stood, then turned and headed for the front door.
Outside, he leaned against his car and sucked in some deep breaths that hurt his aching chest. He checked his watch. Two twenty-five. Time to head out and meet Clayton.
Time to text Bel.
He took his phone out of his pocket. His hand shook, and he squinted to see the screen in the sunlight. Began to type out his message.
Hi, Bel. It’s Daniel.
The minutes ticked by as he thought about what to say next.
21
Goddamn traffic duty. Bel liked it, usually, the freedom to drive around on the highway for a while, counting down the hours in his shift as the scenery flew past the window. One ear on the radio, and the other on the commercial channels. Singing along when something he liked came on. Today he was out of sorts, over Jim, but especially over Daniel. And there was nothing on the radio that wasn’t shit.
US 601 felt like something out of a video game, like he could just drive back and forth on it without ever really getting anywhere. He was nearing the town limits, and he wondered what would happen if he didn’t stop. If he just kept driving, out of Logan, out of Orangeburg County, right out of goddamn South Carolina. Everyone had moments like that, didn’t they? Moments you felt big enough, free enough, crazy enough that you could drive forever. But really it was about running away.
Wasn’t that what Bel would be doing if he left Logan—running?
Uncle Joe had said Bel had no future here with Daniel.
And Bel knew Daniel mattered more than Logan.
But if they left, weren’t they caving? Running because they were afraid of what people would think, what people would say?
At what point were they supposed to give up fighting? They couldn’t change an entire town’s mind. Why make Daniel stay here, miserable and alone, just to prove they weren’t intimidated by gossip, by cold stares, by a fucking pig’s head on the front porch?
Never see Dav, or the baby, if I left. Wouldn’t be around if Mama needed help. Maybe it’s selfish to think about leaving.
Bel wasn’t even sure Daniel wanted to leave. Yeah, he’d been looking at pharmacy schools and talking to John and Dav about his prospects after parole. But whenever Daniel brought up leaving—which was rarely, around Bel—he always seemed cowed by the idea of leaving his family. Of trying to find a job elsewhere.
“No school’s gonna take a murderer,” he’d told Bel the other day. “You want a fucking arsonist counting out your pills?”
Bel slapped the wheel halfheartedly. They’d figure it out. They’d figure out this whole dominant/submissive thing too. Once they’d learned to be in a relationship where they were both in charge, where Daniel didn’t need to hurt—then they could layer on the kinky shit. Daniel might be upset now, but he’d understand. He trusted Bel.
Made Bel proud to think about those moments Daniel gave his trust openly and let Bel take care of him. When he leaned against Bel, or curled in his arms at night, or calmed when he was in the middle of a nightmare and Bel said his name. Bel didn’t know how the fuck to reconcile the Daniel who stuck a nail file in his hand or tore his own ass with the guy who nuzzled Bel’s throat when they were both half-asleep and he was seeking a last kiss good-night.
Bel pulled over awhile and sat, thinking about what he’d say to Daniel tonight. Last night he’d been caught off guard. He hadn’t meant to call Daniel a head case. Jesus. And he’d left Daniel alone after a night like that. Had left Daniel alone just because Daniel had snapped at him and said he didn’t need help. Like fuck he didn’t.
Bel still got his two-thirty text from Daniel. Technically Daniel didn’t have to follow the rules anymore, and technically it was two forty, but Bel was glad to hear from him.
The text read: Hi, Bel. It’s Daniel. I feel like the bravest motherfucker in Logan today. I want to say I’m sorry and thanks for everything.
Bel frowned at the screen, uneasy. There was nothing overtly wrong with the text, just . . .
Thanks for everything.
That was what you said when you were leaving.
I feel like the bravest motherfucker in Logan today.
Why today?
I’m sorry.
There was a dark thought in the back of Bel’s brain, but he didn’t want to look at it too closely.
No way. Fuck no.
Daniel had hurt himself yesterday. He was in a bad place, and if he’d figured Bel was rejecting him . . .
He wouldn’t. Wouldn’t fucking kill himself. He’s smarter than that.
Bel looked at the screen again.
Thanks for everything.
He dialed Daniel’s number and put the phone to his ear. Closed his eyes and prayed as it rang—actually prayed for the first time in years. No answer.
Bel texted: I’m coming to get you right now. Wait for me.
He turned the car around and sped toward town. He was eight miles from Kamchee, and he’d have to cross Logan to get there. Fuck. Another shitty pop song came on the radio, and Bel slammed the Off button.
He slowed when he saw a guy walking through the ditch on the left side of the road. Thought for a wild moment it was Daniel. Hoped it was, because, fuck, Bel would take him in his arms right now if he could, would apologize, would promise Daniel anything. He’d tell Daniel to get in the car and they’d drive out of here right now, together. They’d go wherever Daniel needed to go to heal, and Bel would be patient. Wouldn’t leave him, no matter what.
Just please don’t let him have done anything.
The guy walking through the ditch wasn’t Daniel, it was Jake fucking Kebbler from Greenducks. Motherfucker. Bel ought to ignore him. Wasn’t illegal to walk through a ditch. But Jake was miles from town, and he was staggering. He was waving his arms too, and shouting. Bel pulled over, got out of the car, and crossed the road.
“Kebbler!”
Jake was hobbling like he’d hurt his ankle. When he saw Bel, he fell over. Like one of those fucking fainting goats, just hit the ground. Bel rolled his eyes and hurried over. Jake scrambled to his feet, red eyes wide. “Oh man, thanks for stopping. Can I hitch a ride?” Then his face fell. “Aw, shit, man. Officer, I mean. Didn’t know it was a cop car. Ain’t you supposed to identify yourself or somethin’?”
High as a goddamn kite.
“The lights on top didn’t give it away?” Bel asked.
“I’m not saying nothing ’less you got a warrant,” Jake announced, swaying.
“You flagged me down, you idiot. I don’t have time for this shit right now. What’re you doing out here?”
Jake glanced at his hands, which were filthy. His shoulders jerked.
“What’re you on, Kebbler?” As if Bel didn’t know.
Jake started to hobble away again. “Gonna watch the fight,” he said.
“The fight,” Bel repeated. “That don’t sound like a good reason to be out here. Why don’t you get in the car?”
“Mm-hmm. My money’s on Whitlock.”
Bel froze. “What’re you talking about?”
Jake stopped walking. His shoulders jerked again. He put a finger in his mouth and gnawed on the side of it. Grinned quickly, then the smile faded. “I don’t think you’re invited,
Officer.”
“Listen, you don’t tell me what you’re on about right now, I’ll take you to the station. What’s gonna happen if you piss in a cup, Kebbler? Huh?”
Jake flinched and put a hand over his face. Peered at Bel through his fingers. “I, uh . . . I gotta go.”
Bel put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him before he could move. “Go where?”
“Whitlock, he might need some help. Ain’t gonna be a fa . . . ain’t gonna be a fair fight. Might need someone on his side, and I know Whitlock. I like him okay. Want that McAllister kid wiped out. My money’s on Whitlock.”
Bel shook him lightly. “What’s happening? Is something happening with Whitlock and McAllister?”
Jake’s glassy eyes searched Bel’s. “McAllister. I heard him. Him ’n’ R.J. ’n’ Brock. They was talkin’ about what they’d do to Whitlock. Whitlock thinks he’s just fighting Clayton, but they’re all gonna be there. Gonna gang up on ’im. Least if I’m there, it’s two on three. Odds are better.”
“Where are they fighting?” Bel demanded. He had a sudden image of Daniel standing over Clayton, bloody fists clenched and a snarl on his face. Except that was crazy. Daniel wasn’t gonna win. Even if he didn’t get beaten . . . well, there was no way for Daniel to win.
“Bolton Farm.”
Bel pulled Jake out of the ditch. “Come on. We’re going to my car. You gotta tell me everything you know, okay?”
As they drove toward Bolton, Jake said, “They didn’t know I was there!” He spoke belligerently, as though Bel had tried to argue to the contrary. “Heard ’em say . . .” Jake moaned and knocked his head against the window.
“Heard ’em say what?”
“Hey, where we goin’?”
“To Bolton Farm, Kebbler. I’m gonna throw my coffee on you in a minute here. What’d they say?”
“They was gonna fix Whitlock good. They figured he was just expectin’ Clayton. And Clayton’s a fuck face, Officer.” Jake pounded on the divide. “He’s an animal.”