The looks they gave him made the hairs on the back of his neck rise and chills skitter down his spine. These guys didn’t just not like him, they hated him, and he didn’t know what to do with that. But if they disliked him so much on the suspicion he was gay, there was no way he wanted to confirm it for them.
“Can you give me a ride to the hospital after school?” he asked Ker. She was the only friend in their trio with reliable wheels.
Beau’s mom wouldn’t let him have a car, not even when his uncle offered to give Beau his old one. No doubt she was remembering her backseat adventures that led to pregnancy. Nate had a car, but it’d been up on blocks in his garage for going on two years.
Ker wrinkled her nose. “It’s in the shop, something about spark plugs.” She shrugged, clueless about her car’s maintenance. “My mom’s picking me up.”
“Damn.”
“I wonder how you say that in Spanish,” she mused. “Esta en la tienda?”
Beau scowled. “How do you say, ‘That sucks balls?’”
Ker shrugged, and they both looked at Nate, who shook his head as if he couldn’t believe he was friends with them.
“No habla Espanol,” he answered.
***
Wade sat by Shane, idly scrolling through Reddit posts and snorting at the dumb shit people posted while his best friend played his Xbox. Shane was a sucker for shooter games, and Wade had plenty because Trent — a family friend who he’d called uncle since he was in diapers — bought him gaming crap every birthday and Christmas.
“Wade?” his mom called from the kitchen. He’d forgotten it was her day off; as a part-timer, she only worked full office hours a few days a week.
Shane perked up at Helen Ritter’s voice, a goofy smile lighting up his face, and Wade threw the TV remote at him.
“Don’t perv on my mom,” he warned. Shane had made enough MILF comments to last Wade a lifetime. He did not need to hear that shit about his mother, even if Shane wasn’t serious. At least, he didn’t think he was. With Shane, it was sometimes difficult to tell. Like that shit with Anna. That had seemed serious.
“We’re in the living room, Helen!” Shane called cheerfully. Wade rolled his eyes.
Helen Ritter walked in, a paper in her hand. Her eyes were scanning it and judging by the number of wrinkles creasing it, she’d found his English paper crumpled and tossed into the top of the recycling bin. That’s what he got for being responsible about the environment.
“Are you kidding me?” she asked, looking up. Disappointment colored her tone. “A D-? That’s not going to cut it.”
“Ouch, dude,” Shane said.
“Do you want to graduate?” she asked. “Or is this going to be a repeat of last year?”
Wade had failed two core classes the year before, causing him to fall short of a high school diploma: English and Algebra II. The math was laziness; it came easily to him, but he’d skipped class too much and failed to take any make-up tests. English class was another matter. Reading books, he could handle; writing papers took more effort. There was the research, the writing, the grammar and spelling, and conclusions. It was all too much. But he didn’t want to fail again. He could drop out and get his GED, but he knew his mother didn’t want that. Neither did he, really. He might be a fuckup, but he’d rather not add high school dropout to the list.
“I’m trying, okay? That teacher is being a hardass—”
His mom held up a hand. “I don’t want excuses. Excuses won’t get you a diploma.”
“No shit,” he muttered.
He was still shocked the Ashe High staff had held him back rather than handing over his diploma and gladly washing their hands of him the spring before. He’d been so angry he blew off the summer school option. Talk about cutting off your nose to spite your face. He’d never understood that saying until now. But the further into this school year he got, the more he realized he couldn’t keep doing the same things and expecting different results.
“Go over to the school. Hit the library and rewrite this paper.”
“The grades are already in, Mom.”
“Do it anyway. Then turn it in and tell your teacher you want to do better. Ask her if she’ll grade it, even if it doesn’t officially count for anything.”
Wade stared at her in disbelief. “But that’s wasted effort.”
“Not if you get an A on your next paper. Besides, it won’t kill you to show a little initiative. Teachers like to see that. They’ll be more willing to work with you if you show you’re trying. You can’t keep screwing around. Find a tutor at the school, if you need, but don’t just sit on your butt and watch the D’s and F’s roll in!”
Her fair complexion hid nothing of her emotions. Her cheeks flushed red, and despite her words, her tone was one of desperation, not anger.
“Okay, relax. I’ll work harder.”
He started to turn back to the television, but she jabbed a finger toward the door.
“Start now. The school library is still open.”
“But—”
“Go,” she insisted.
Wade flicked off the television. It wouldn’t be worth the argument that would ensue for him to fight her on it. “Fine. I guess play time’s over, Shane.”
“Aw, I could hang with Helen while you—” Wade kicked his leg. “Ow! Okay, I’m going.”
Shane grinned widely as he passed Helen in the doorway. “Nice to see you again, Helen. You know, I’ll be eighteen in a month. Legal adult and all that.”
A faint smile tugged at her lips. “I think you’d better call me Mrs. Ritter.”
Shane’s flattery was ridiculous, but it always made Wade’s mom smile. He shoved his friend out the door. “Go home, idiot.”
Shane climbed in his wreck on wheels that defied physics simply by moving forward, and Wade went to his trusty Toyota — a boring car, but a reliable one and just one more bribe, er gift, from Uncle Trent.
Still irritated by his mom’s lecture and worse — the knowledge she was right — he started the engine and drove toward school. The last classes would just be letting out. Shane had study hall at the end of the day, so he cut out early regularly, and Wade only attended two classes a day, along with two courses he’d been allowed to take at the junior college. He’d enrolled in night classes that met general requirements — public speaking and geology — because he didn’t have a clue what he wanted to do with his life. But at least he’d manage some college credit by May, assuming he could get his ass in gear and pass everything.
Realizing the street in front of the school would be flooded with buses and the parking lot jammed with students leaving classes, he circled around to take the lesser-used back entrance on the far side of the football field.
Okay, Wade, he ordered himself, think smart thoughts.
Easier said than done.
Chapter 3
“Hey, Beau, why don’t you dance for us?”
“Beau-beau, where you goin’? Wait up!”
Beau tuned out the voices behind him and picked up his pace. He was in danger of being late for his shift at the hospital since he had to hoof it. He was a volunteer, but that didn’t mean people weren’t counting on him to fill in the gaps that staffing shortages left behind. He loved his time there. His mom fully approved in the hopes he’d pursue medical school, but Beau didn’t want to leave his family for years of intensive training. He hadn’t broken the news yet, but he’d already applied to the two nursing programs within driving distance of Ashe. He could think of worse things than following in his Uncle Xavier’s footsteps — in more ways than one, since Xavier was gay and happily partnered with a doctor.
But being gay, at the moment, was a hassle he could do without.
Footsteps fell in behind him, and he gritted his teeth. Jeremy and Billy had always been assholes, but they’d become more blatant in their harassment since that video made the rounds.
“Sweet Beau Peep has lost his sheep!”
“If only I could lose yo
u stupid sheep,” he muttered.
“What’d you say?”
A hand landed on his shoulder, pulling him back. He spun toward them against his will.
And here it comes. He knew turning the other cheek wouldn’t work, but after hearing the advice from his grandmother for years on end, it was his first response to confrontation. His second was feigned ignorance. Maybe if he pretended there was no problem, they’d walk away?
“Sorry guys, but I’m running late.”
“Ah, come on, Beau. Don’t be mean. We just want to talk.”
Yeah, right. Beau scanned their surroundings for a sign of someone who might help. On the far edge of the football field, nowhere near the student parking lot, he was on his own. A street ran behind them, but it wasn’t the most popular route off school grounds.
He held a saxophone instrument case in one hand, a potential weapon, but even if he got a hit in, he didn’t kid himself. He’d be in for an ass-kicking.
“What do you want to talk about?” he asked, playing for time. To do what, he wasn’t sure. Maybe one of the other marching band kids would come this way. He was only on this isolated stretch because he’d rushed from practice, leaving his backpack and all his books behind in his locker, so he could take a shortcut toward the city bus stop six blocks away. He’d be lucky to catch the next bus over to the hospital where he volunteered.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you since the party. How’s it feel to look like a girl?” Billy asked. He flicked off Beau’s beanie and his curly hair spilled out. “Just look at this hair. And those lips.” He pressed a thumb right under Beau’s mouth. “What is it like to look nothing like a guy?”
Beau jerked his head away from Billy’s hand. “Fuck off.”
His hair and lips were genetic gifts from his mother’s African-American half. With a white father and a biracial mother, Beau’s looks usually confounded people. He was used to getting questions about his ethnicity. He’d never before had someone tell him he looked like a girl, though. That was new.
“No, you fuck off!” Billy responded with about the amount of creativity Beau would expect from him.
“So, we agree then,” Beau said, his smart mouth always ready to get him in more trouble. “I’ll fuck off, and you do the same.”
Billy shoved him into Jeremy, who hooked an arm around Beau’s shoulder. It would have looked friendly, if it weren’t for the iron grip he had on Beau that prevented him from moving. So much for bluffing his way out of there.
“Do you want a boyfriend like the rest of the girls?” Jeremy whispered in his ear. “You do, don’t you? You want a real man to take care of your little fag ass.”
Beau shuddered, and not because it felt good. Despite the pit of dread opening in his stomach, his mouth reflexively spewed another snarky reply. Anger, disgust and sheer bravado kept his voice even.
“The way he talked about my lips, I’d say Billy’s the one who wants a boyfriend.”
Beau tried to tug free, done trying to wait them out, but Jeremy held tight. His feet slid on the loose rocks littering the pavement, and he dropped the sax case in the scuffle. Billy threw a punch while he was distracted with Jeremy, popping him in the mouth. His lip hit his teeth, splitting the skin, and the coppery tang of blood filled his mouth.
That was when Beau got seriously worried. They’d been harassing him for as long as he could remember, but the tone of their bullying had changed. They weren’t going to let him go with a few insults.
Jeremy pulled one of his arms behind his back and wrapped the other around his chest, pulling Beau back against his body so he couldn’t move without serious pain to his shoulder.
“Just leave me the fuck alone!” Beau shouted, his heart thundering in his chest.
“We saw how you were staring at us out on the field while you had your dorky band practice,” Jeremy said. “You can’t stare at guys like that.”
“You should know better. Maybe we should teach you . . .”
Their voices drowned under the white noise in his head. Beau renewed his struggles, kicking out at Jeremy’s shins behind him and shouting to be let go, but he couldn’t get any leverage. He was totally and completely screwed.
Gravel crunched under tires. A motor purred next to them. Beau turned his head with difficulty because Jeremy had a death grip on his hair.
A blue Toyota sedan rolled to a stop. Beau just had time to recognize Wade Ritter at the wheel before the engine cut and the driver’s door swung open.
Beau had always appreciated Wade’s six-foot-two frame and broad shoulders, but never as much as he did when Wade stepped out of that car looking like he’d have no trouble throwing down. His expression was grim, but then it always was. Wade was the broody type.
“What’s going on here?” Wade asked.
Jeremy and Billy exchanged irritated looks, but Jeremy withdrew the hand in Beau’s hair. Billy stepped back, and Beau felt like he could breathe for the first time since they stopped him.
“He was hitting on us,” Billy said.
“You guys aren’t my type. Sorry.”
Wade’s eyebrows went up at Beau’s sarcastic reply. Okay, yeah. Not the smartest move to antagonize them further, but fuck if he was going to let them make up shit.
Billy scowled. “Suck my dick.”
“I don’t want to, you idiot,” Beau shot back, taking a step toward Billy before Jeremy yanked him back by the T-shirt. He was going to say more, like he wouldn’t be attracted to Billy if he grew three inches and cleared up the acne, but he caught a subtle shake of the head from Wade.
Right, don’t make it worse.
“Look, we were just trying to teach him not to go there with straight guys,” Jeremy said in a friendly tone. “He tries that with someone else, and he’ll be in real trouble.”
As opposed to the fake kind where two guys tried to kick his ass.
Wade nodded as if they weren’t full of shit. Jeremy still had a grip on the back of Beau’s T-shirt, but Wade calmly reached over and uncurled his fingers. Jeremy didn’t fight him, probably because everyone liked Wade Ritter. Or wanted to be him, more like.
Right now, Beau was glad for his popularity because it gave Wade the leverage to smile at Jeremy and Billy, open the passenger door of his car, and politely ask Beau if he needed a ride — all without the slightest interference.
“Thanks,” Beau murmured as he picked up his sax case and slid into the car. He wasted no time closing the door. He resisted locking it only because he didn’t want them to see his fear. His muscles stayed tight with tension until Wade was in the driver’s seat and pulling away from the curb.
Then a huge, shuddering sigh burst from his lips.
“I can’t believe that just happened.”
***
Wade lowered his sunglasses, looking over the rims at Beau’s face. Much like Friday night, he was flushed with color. This time from anger. His plump bottom lip oozed blood. Wade didn’t see any other marks on his face, so unless he was injured under his clothes, the split lip seemed like the worst of the damage.
“You okay?”
Beau nodded, blinking hard. He’d looked fearless as he stared down those two assholes, but in the aftermath, faint tremors set in. Beau shivered, and Wade knew it wasn’t from the cold on the mild fall day. It was nice enough he’d driven with his window down.
“Think so,” Beau said. “It happened so fast. One minute they were hassling me, but just talking you know? The next, Billy punched me. I couldn’t get out of Jeremy’s hold, so what the fuck could I do?”
He’d never seen Beau so rattled. He was talking too fast, running his words together, obviously still amped on adrenaline. Wade kept his gaze on the road until he braked for a stoplight.
When he looked over, Beau was bent in half in his seat, hands clasped behind his neck. “Fuck, why did I say that shit to them?”
“Did you really hit on them?” Wade asked, surprised. He’d pegged that as bullshit the second it came out of J
eremy’s mouth. He knew Beau was gay, yeah, but he wasn’t dumb enough to hit on straight guys — especially homophobic dicks like Jeremy and Billy.
Beau turned his head, eyes narrowed in a glare. If looks could kill, Wade would be dead.
“No, I fucking didn’t hit on those losers!”
Wade had never heard Beau swear so much in his entire life.
“I meant the thing where I said Billy seemed like the one who wanted a girlfriend, or the part about how they should fuck off, and how they weren’t my type.” Beau groaned. “They’re going to hate me even more now.”
“Probably.”
Then Beau contradicted himself. “Oh, fuck them! I should have told them their dicks were too small to be worth sucking.”
Wade snorted, unable to hold in the laugh. “Probably better you didn’t.”
“Yeah,” Beau said quietly, all his nervous energy dissipating. “I never should have gone to that stupid party.”
“It was quite the show,” Wade said as he accelerated through the stoplight, his eyes once more on the road.
“Saw the video, huh?” Beau said flatly.
“I saw the live performance.”
Beau sat up so quickly he startled Wade, and he swerved at nothing. Hastily, he gained control of the steering wheel as Beau banged his head against the back of the seat. “Fuck my life.”
Wade didn’t have anything to say to that. He drove in silence until Beau seemed to check back in at the next intersection. He straightened, glancing out the window.
“Oh hey, can you take a left on Main? I need to go to the hospital.”
Wade’s heart skipped a beat. “Shit, are you hurt worse than I thought?”
He flipped the blinker and took the corner a little too fast. He and Beau weren’t close, but he still felt responsible for him in the way he would with his kid sister.
Beau looked at him like he was cracked. “No, man. It’s just a split lip. But I volunteer there.”
“Oh, right. I forgot.” He eased off the gas pedal a smidge as some of the tension left his body. “There’s tissues in the glovebox. You’re still bleeding.”
Room for Recovery Page 2