Candy Boys

by Raven, Jo

One good thing about getting so shitfaced you can’t remember your own name? The fear is gone. All fear.

  Nothing matters but my next shot and the blissful mindlessness of this moment.

  When a guy stumbles into my stool, I grab him and shove him against the bar. When he snarls something I can’t hear at me, I shove him back harder.

  Then I release him, step off my stool and open my arms wide.

  “Come to daddy,” I yell at him, but inside what I’m thinking is, Give me pain, cut me down, knock me out.

  Set me free.

  ***

  I’m being pulled away from the brawl, protesting and struggling because it wasn’t enough, hell, and I’m still conscious—when I see her.

  Not Candy. No, that would have been something good, and good isn’t in the cards tonight. No, it’s a random girl, a girl I’ve never seen before. She has her hand over her mouth, her eyes are wide, and she’s staring right at me with horror.

  Shit, I have to look real bad. My face is a giant bruise, and one of my eyes is swelling shut already.

  “Get out of here,” the bouncer grumbles at me as he drags me out of the bar. “And don’t come back. It’s the third time you started a fight in the past two months.”

  Yeah, yeah. Like a guy fights alone. It takes at least two to make a fight, but I’m the one who’s getting kicked out.

  The bouncer propels me into the dark alley behind the bar and I stagger, catching my balance with a hand against the brick wall.

  Goddammit.

  I straighten, my head spinning, my jaw throbbing, and I find her at the emergency exit, staring at me.

  “What do you want?” I slur, squinting at her. “Look, you’re pretty, but there’s only one girl I want and she’s not here right now.”

  “Candy.” She nods. “You want Candy. You’re Jethro.” When I stare at her, uncomprehending, she says, “I’m Brylee. Candy’s roommate. I’ve seen you in photos.”

  Brylee. Her name rings a bell. “Hey,” I mumble, not sure what she wants from me.

  “Is Candy here?” She glances around as if expecting Candy to materialize from behind the dumpsters of the alley.

  “I wish.” Damn, my mouth is saying things it shouldn’t.

  “What happened? She’s always with you guys. You and Joel. Is Joel here?”

  I laugh. It comes out as a sob. “Nah. Joel took off. Candy doesn’t want to see me, Bailey.”

  “It’s Brylee.” She takes a step toward me, letting the door half-shut behind her, the noise from inside spilling out. “Candy loves you.”

  I swallow down this cry-laughter that’s clawing its way up my throat. “I was fired today. Because I lied about having a GED. I’m a lie. My life is a lie. What would Candy want with someone like me anyway?”

  “You’re deaf, right? Didn’t you hear what I said? Candy loves you. You and Joel. Has loved you for some time, and right now? She’s head over heels in love with you.”

  I shake my head. This can’t be real. I’m hallucinating. Maybe that guy did knock me out after all. “Why would she?”

  She eyes me for a long moment, looking sad. “I guess you were meant to be together.”

  I laugh, and she looks away. If my destiny exists, it’s made of thorns and rusty nails, not fairytale endings. “Joel just fucking walked out on me, and we’ve been best friends for years. Fuck off.”

  “I’m going in to get my cell phone and call Candy,” she says, as if she hasn’t heard me. “She may be worried about you.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. I watch as she turns around and gets back inside the bar, the noise brightening, then fading. I shiver, clad only in a T-shirt and my jeans, my jacket still inside, draped over the stool where I sat earlier.

  Candy loves me.

  This sounds so much like a mind trick, I’m wary. After Mom was killed, the drugs the shrinks gave me made me see her sometimes. She’d tell me she loved me, that she was there for me.

  It wasn’t real.

  But I’m not on drugs anymore, haven’t been in years. Booze shouldn’t make me see things, hear things.

  Like the door opening again and a man appearing there. He lets the door slam shut and stares at me.

  I stare back, my mouth opening without a sound.

  Gray hair, shorn short, dark eyes. My mouth. My face, lined, older.

  No. Nonono. This can’t be happening. I take a step back but find the wall blocking me. I turn toward the alley mouth, but he’s already moving there, a barrier between myself and freedom.

  Myself and life.

  Because there, standing in front of me, is my father.

  My brain is spinning on nothing. Maybe I did take drugs. I can’t remember. Was I in treatment? Did I have another breakdown?

  Five years. Today it’s five years since he killed my mom. Ten years since his brother died. And I’m here, facing him.

  He draws a knife from the inside of his leather jacket. It’s long and narrow, and it flashes in the faint light.

  Shit. If you die in a hallucination, do you really die?

  What if this is real?

  He starts toward me, and I back away toward the dumpsters, the air whistling in my lungs. “Don’t. Okay? Stay back.”

  He isn’t talking. Isn’t taunting. Isn’t fucking stopping. The knife flashes again as he swishes it right and left.

  Fuck.

  “Dad… Dad, don’t.” Real or not, my heart is hammering madly, and fear twists my stomach until I think I’m gonna puke. This is my nightmare, the one that wakes me up at night in a cold sweat. Him, coming for me to finish off the last of the family. “Don’t!”

  Then he’s on top of me, pushing me back, grabbing my shoulder, lifting the knife. I twist, punch him in the arm, but he doesn’t budge. His eyes are staring right at me, and he still hasn’t said a word or made a sound.

  “Fuck, let me go!” I struggle. I kick at his legs, push at his arm, try to wrench myself free.

  Not working. His hand is gripping my shoulder so hard I feel the bones grind together. He’s as tall as I am, and wider, bulkier, and I’m still dizzy from the punches to my face and all the whiskey I downed tonight. With only one eye functioning, the other swollen shut, my balance is shot to hell.

  “It’s your turn,” he finally says, his dark eyes glittering and wide. “The fives have turned. Five to the day, to the hour. You lose. Time’s up!”

  He lifts the knife, brings it down, and I do my best to block with my arm. Blinding pain makes me cry out, and then he pulls the knife back and plunges it into my chest.

  Holy shit, he’s real, and fucking crazy, and Christ, it hurts like a bitch. I stare down at the knife protruding from my chest, blinking dazedly. My pulse is drumming in my ears, too loud.

  Loud noise filters through the pounding, and light pours into the alley. He lets go of my shoulder, steps back—and I go after him, grabbing his arms. He shrugs me off, but I grab at him again.

  No idea why, but I can’t let him go. He killed my mom. He just killed me, too. He’s dangerous. Candy is out there. Joel, too.

  “Jethro?” a woman’s voice calls out, and then a guy cursing. “Oh my God.”

  My father pushes me off, and I stumble a few paces back, falling against the dumpsters as he turns and hurries away.

  I’m cold. So cold my teeth are chattering. And it’s getting hard to breathe.

  “Call an ambulance,” someone shouts. “And the police.”

  The alley is darkening. A shadow bends over me.

  “Candy,” I tell it. “Joel. Make sure they’re safe.”

  And then the blackness closes over me.

  Chapter Thirty One

  CANDY

  Title: Little Truths

  From Candy Boys (Blog serial)

  “I love you,” I tell them. “Did I tell you? Did you know?”

  Did you know you have the power to break my heart?

  Because it’s true.

  “What do you mean he’s in the hospital? Di
dn’t you just say he was fine?” I’m clenching my cell phone so hard my knuckles ache. “Bry?”

  “Sorry, sorry. It’s crazy over here. Someone stabbed Jethro in the chest.”

  “Bry, are you serious right now?” I wait for her reply, heart in my throat. “Bry!”

  “I’m serious. There’s a guy trying to stop the blood. Holy crap, Candy...”

  “Jesus Christ.” I push away the laptop and jump to my feet, scanning the room for my jacket and purse. “I’m on my way.”

  I don’t wait for her to reply. I throw the phone in my purse, pull on my shoes, grab my jacket and I’m out of here like a shot.

  My fingers feel numb as I stab the call button for the elevator. I’m in shock, I think hazily. This can’t be. Stabbed. Jet was stabbed.

  Shit.

  I can’t think until I’m seated in my car and driving toward the bar Brylee called me from. Then, as I approach, I remember Joel and fish out my phone to call him.

  He doesn’t answer, so I shoot him a text while waiting at the traffic lights, my finger shaking as I type the words.

  ‘Jet was stabbed. Riley’s Bar. Call me.’

  Please, call me. Where are you?

  Joel’s the one in control, the one in charge, the dependable one, the strong one. I need him. Hell, Jet needs him.

  Tears sting my eyes as I finally reach my destination and park the car. I’m not angry at Jet anymore. I’m scared, so scared it takes me two tries to switch off the engine.

  God, how did it come to this? Who stabbed him? Why? And why was Jet here, in a brawl, instead of home with me and Joel?

  Drawing in a deep breath, I step out and head toward the bar. Brylee intercepts me on the way, looking pale, her eyes too wide.

  “They took him away in an ambulance just now,” she whispers, linking her arm with mine. “They caught his attacker, too, the police are taking him in now.”

  “I need to see Jet.” I’m panicking, trying to free myself of her hold, trying to turn back around.

  “I’ll take you to the hospital. Come on.”

  I let her haul me back to my car, let her get behind the wheel and drive me, too shaky to refuse her help.

  And Joel still hasn’t called me back.

  ***

  The ER is pretty quiet. Lots of people are seated in the waiting area. Brylee leaves me to ask about Jet, and I’m left standing there, lost.

  This is wrong. Jet shouldn’t be here. Jet shouldn’t be hurt.

  And I should be the one asking about him.

  Turning, I look for her, but she’s vanished somewhere. This is surreal. Panic rises in my chest, clogging my throat. I’m two seconds from screaming.

  A woman I don’t know pats my arm. “Have a seat,” she says. “Be patient.”

  I jerk back, shaking my head, and pull out my phone again. Nothing. No texts, no missed calls.

  Jesus, Joel. Where are you?

  And where has Brylee gone, for that matter? Where is everyone? The walls are closing in on me. The air is stale. Not enough oxygen.

  I turn blindly around, this time searching for the exit, when strong arms come around me and a familiar male scent envelops me.

  “Candy.” Joel is rocking me in his arms. “Where is he? Is he okay?”

  Joel is here. The tears suddenly overflow, seep into my lashes, slip down my cheeks. “I don’t know. Brylee went to ask. I couldn’t find you. You didn’t call back.”

  “I was an asshole, and an idiot.” He pulls back and wipes my tears with his hands, then cups my cheeks. “The hospital called me.”

  I frown. “Why would they?”

  “I’m listed as his next of kin. But they only told me he’s in surgery.”

  “Oh God.” More tears slip free. “What else did they say?”

  “Nothing else. And it’s my fault.”

  “Your fault? How is any of this your fault?”

  He’s shaking, clutching me so hard it hurts, but I don’t care. It means he’s here, with me. With us. “I was so angry with you for putting up our photo and names on your blog, for not telling us about the story, about exposing us. I went home to tell Jet about it, and then… then things got heated between us. And I freaked out and left.”

  “Wait, wait…” My brain is still frozen with shock and doesn’t quite follow. “Oh crap, you know about the blog?”

  “Yeah. My sister told me about it, and today a colleague at work saw it and—”

  I put a hand on his chest and push, needing to see his face. “What photo? And what do you mean, your names? Are you drunk?”

  He blinks at me, those pretty blue eyes confused. “A photo of us—you, me, Jet outside our building holding hands, and our names below.”

  “No, this can’t be. This…” I frown. That selfie? “I took that photo of us, last week. It’s my desktop background. J, I’d never do that. I was going to tell you about my blog and the story, but I only got as far as telling Jet today, and I’m going to take the story down. As for the photo and your names, that wasn’t me.”

  “Not you? Then who?”

  “Someone must have hacked into my computer. Oh God.” Who would do this to me? Brylee?

  Nah. Brylee wouldn’t. What would she have to gain? Besides, she’s not that much into computers.

  Whereas Connie is.

  Jesus. Could it be possible? I thought we were good friends. What reason would she have to do such a thing?

  “It wasn’t you,” he whispers, and maybe I should be angry at him for thinking it was, but I’m numb and frightened and tired, and how can I blame him? I should have told him about the blog long ago.

  “Hey, guys!” Brylee is rushing toward us, and we break apart, although he grabs my hand, holding it tightly in his, and it makes my chest warm. “I couldn’t find you.”

  “What did you find out?”

  “He’s coming out of surgery as we speak. They say he’ll be okay.”

  God. My knees go weak, and Joel wraps an arm around my waist, holding me up.

  “What else did they say?” he asks tersely.

  “They said we can go and wait in another room, but they won’t tell me more because I’m not family.”

  “Well, we are,” Joel says. “Let’s go find out.”

  ***

  “Why did you freak out?” I ask him half an hour later, leaning back in my creaking plastic chair in a smaller waiting room, killing time, waiting for Jet to wake up from the anesthetic.

  “Hm?” He glances up, his eyes haunted.

  “You said earlier this is your fault because you freaked out on Jet. You said things got heated. You got into an argument?”

  “What? No, that’s not what I meant. I meant…” He waves a hand, and I watch fascinated as his cheeks turn pink. Making sure nobody else is near, he lowers his voice. “I mean we kissed, and I went down on him.”

  “Holy shit.” A matching blush is spreading on my face. “Not fair. Next time I want to see.”

  He snorts, but grins at me, flashing his dimple. “I love you, Candy.”

  Oh God. “I love you, too, Joel Kingsley. I love both of you.”

  He strokes my cheek, his blue eyes warm.

  “Look,” I tell him, “I’ll take that photo down the moment I’m home and find out who did this. I know that you like your privacy, you have every right to it, especially after that stupid scandal last year and—”

  “Shush.” He reaches again for my hand, and I tangle my fingers with his. “It’s okay.”

  “Okay?” I study his flushed face. “You were not okay earlier today. Will you have problems at work because of it?”

  “Nah.” He turns our hands so that mine is on top, strokes my knuckles with his thumb. “And if I do, I don’t care.”

  “J—”

  “No, I don’t fucking care, Candy.” There’s fire in his eyes when he lifts them to meet mine. “I don’t care about the job, or about what my parents think, or what anyone thinks. A job I don’t like, parents who don’t try t
o understand me, people I don’t care about. What we have is not wrong. And all I care about is you and Jet.”

  I lean into him, our shoulders pressing together, and kiss his cheek. He puts his other hand on my face and captures my mouth instead, kissing me deeply.

  “We’ll get through this,” he whispers as he pulls back. “And Jet will pull through. He’s tough.”

  I think about what the doctors told Joel, that the knife had stabbed a lung and damaged some big blood vessels, causing a lot of bleeding, which they’d managed to stop.

  My heart constricts. “Who would do this to him?”

  “I think…” Joel glances at the door as if expecting someone to walk in, but it’s quiet. “His father.”

  I blink. “What? Why?”

  So Joel tells me the story of how Jet’s father stabbed his mother to death five years ago. How Jet watched his father leave, how he was eventually declared missing, the case closed. How Jet seemed unconvinced and scared.

  “I talked to his cousin,” he says. “After I got the call from the hospital. He said Jet believes his father is psychotic. That for some reason he kills a family member every five years on this day. Apparently it’s the anniversary of the death of Jet’s grandfather, his own father. Jet believes his father first killed his own brother, then his wife, and today came for his son.”

  “Jesus.”

  Like, really, what the hell?

  “The reason his cousin was calling him a lot lately was that he saw a man watching his house. Then someone broke in, messed everything up. If it was his father…”

  I swallow hard. “His father found this address, but realized Jet doesn’t live there anymore. So he went looking for clues.”

  “And found Jet’s new address.” Joel’s voice is shaking. “He must have followed him to the bar, saw his chance and fucking stabbed him.”

  Now Joel is holding on to me and all I can do is let him. “He’ll be okay. You said it.”

  “He has to be. He’s with us. We need him. He’s always doubting himself, thinking nothing will last.”

  “We need to tell him.”

  “We will.”

  Chapter Thirty Two

  JOEL

  I’ve lived my life to other people’s expectations. Time to show my real face to the world, and if the world doesn’t like it, then fuck the world.