Scars

by Avery Ford

  Don’t think about it. You’re still getting back on your feet.

  Henry zipped up the bag and hefted it over his shoulder. The strap dug into his skin and rubbed the wrong way. It was a good thing he wasn’t planning on walking to Caleb’s place.

  It’s your place now, too.

  A surge of excitement washed through Henry and made him shiver. For the first time in his life, he would be independent. He’d have his own room, buy his own food, and be responsible for his own life. Living with Pritchard had given him a small taste, but it wasn’t true independence. Not with Pritchard paying for everything – and controlling it, too. No longer would he be shackled by a man who treated him more like a pet than a person.

  Something deep inside him told him that Caleb, who appeared to be kind-hearted and broody, would never do that to him. Despite himself, Henry smiled. Having a roommate would be a good life experience, and beyond that, he was eager to get to know who Caleb really was. If he was a good friend with Kota, he had to be a good person.

  Henry set his duffle bag by the front door, then returned to his bedroom. There were a few odds and ends left to pack that he’d throw into a separate bag. Most of his possessions hadn’t been his at all – they’d belonged to Pritchard, and he’d come back home without very much at all. Still, there were a few things he couldn’t live without. Henry packed away his favorite set of pillowcases and folded his blanket to leave on the bed until he was ready to go. Caleb had assured him that there was already a bed in the room he was renting, and that he was welcome to help himself to the bed linens and blankets, but it didn’t feel right to Henry. Borrowing sheets wasn’t that big of a deal, but having his own blanket was important. Even when he’d slept with Pritchard, he’d kept his own blanket. It was more about comfort than practicality.

  From beneath his bed, Henry pulled out a wooden box. It was no bigger than a shoe box, but its lid was domed and etched with an arabesque pattern. He eased the lid open and looked at the treasures kept inside. There was a small, threadbare stuffed rabbit, a dried out wood slice from a small pine tree, a corked vial of minuscule seed pearls, and a golden pocket watch that had long stopped ticking. Henry took a deep breath, internalizing the faint smell of pine and the stale scent of old, untouched objects. Everything accounted for, he closed the lid and latched it, then put it in his bag alongside his pillow cases. Apart from the soaps and shampoos he had yet to pack, he was ready. There was nothing more he needed.

  “What are you going to do now?” Henry asked himself, sitting back on his bed to stare at his knees. He was almost ready to go, but there was still one thing holding him back — he still hadn’t told his parents that he was moving out. Henry knew them, and he knew that they’d cause a scene once they found out. He wished he could leave a letter to let them know that he was moving out in an attempt to get back on his feet, but doing so would be far too impersonal. He’d already hurt them by dropping out of college to move in with Pritchard without informing them first. If he wanted to stay on their good side, he’d have to tell them face-to-face and suffer through whatever skepticism and disapproval they had.

  After how badly he’d messed up with Pritchard, Henry supposed he couldn’t blame them.

  Still, the idea of leaving a letter tempted him, and as he brought his second bag and his blanket down to leave by the front door, he considered it. Hadn’t they been the ones pushing him to get out of the house and get back on his feet? Even if he wasn’t moving somewhere glamorous, they had no right to be upset with his choices.

  Henry set his bags down. He was about to return to his room to draft a potential note explaining his choices when the front door opened. His posture stiffened, and he turned on his heels to find his father on his way in. Barrel-chested with a tapered waist and abs of steel, Victor Weston was an imposing man who looked great for his age. When he was younger, Henry was sure he’d grow up to be as big and strong as his father was. He’d been wrong. Slender and willowy, he took after his mother.

  “Henry,” Victor said stiffly. He looked at the bags by the door, then back to his son. “What’s going on here?”

  “I didn’t expect you to come home,” Henry admitted, doing his best not to stumble over his words. Leaving a letter was off the table now that his father had caught him. “I was going to—”

  “Are you moving back in with that Ekkehard boy?” The severity in his father’s voice was chilling, and Henry’s arms locked to his sides as he grew nervous. “Richard?”

  “I’m not moving back in with Pritchard, father,” Henry said with a defiant tone. “I would never move back in with him, you don’t have to worry. I found a roommate, and I was getting ready to move out. Mother has been encouraging me to get back on my feet, and I figured this was the best way to do it.”

  Victor pressed his lips together and Henry could tell he was holding back a scowl. “A roommate?”

  “Yes.” Henry balled and released a fist – not out of anger, but to try to navigate his fear. He knew that his parents wouldn’t accept the fact that he was moving out at face value, even if it was the best step forward. “I’ll still be in town, at least until I find a job. I’ve been applying for positions with companies offering respectable salaries, and I’m really hoping to hear back from at least one of them soon. I don’t want to keep being a burden.”

  Victor closed the door and leaned against it, arms crossed over his chest. The shoulders of his expensive suit creased as he did so, and Henry tried to focus on the new crests and valleys rather than look his father in the eye. He didn’t want to break down and come across as weak.

  “Where in town are you moving?” Victor demanded. “Blue Mountain doesn’t have many rental units available.”

  Henry knew that his father was trying to poke holes in his statements to catch him in a lie, but this time around, Henry had nothing to lie about. He wasn’t covering for Pritchard’s actions anymore — the only person he had to worry about was himself.

  “Someone in town is renting out a room in their house. Officer Owens happens to be good friends with him, and when he heard I was looking for a place he put us in contact. I saw the house and liked it, and he gave me the chance to move in. I’m done with Pritchard, I promise.”

  Victor didn’t look satisfied. He propped himself off the door and stalked forward, examining Henry from head to toe. “What’s the name of the man offering you board?”

  It was turning into a police interrogation. Henry bit down on the inside of his lip and tried to hold himself together. If he wanted to prove he was capable of being on his own, he needed to stand resolute against his father. Crumbling to the pressure would be admitting weakness. “His name is Caleb. He just moved back to town after living in Texas for the last five years, but his family owns a house near the main strip. He moved back to live there since his parents moved down to Florida.”

  “Wait.” Victor paused. “Are you talking about the Anders family? Caleb Anders?”

  “Yes.” Henry said hesitantly. He wasn’t sure if Anders was Caleb’s last name or not, but he figured that his father was likely right. In a small town like Blue Mountain, everyone knew each other somehow.

  “God.” Victor scrubbed at his face. Henry’s stomach clenched with dread. His father sounded disappointed.

  Before Victor could say anything more, Henry’s mother, Gloria, swept in through the door. She came to an abrupt stop when she spotted both of them standing there, eying Victor first, then Henry. Henry didn’t think she’d noticed the bags by the door. “Darling, what are you doing home from work?”

  “I came home to pick up some papers I forgot. There’s a board meeting going on later this morning that I’ll need them for. But imagine my surprise when I came through the door and found Henry getting ready to leave.” Victor gestured at the duffle bags at Gloria’s side, and she turned her head to look at them, then back at Henry, a frown creasing her features.

  “Henry, you’re not thinking of going back with—”

>   “No, mother.” As concerned as she sounded, Henry was sick of hearing it. He’d been weak to Pritchard for a long time, and blind to the damage he was doing to Henry’s mind, but that was over now. “I’m never getting back together with Pritchard. After the talk you and I had, I’ve been busy getting my life together. I found a roommate who’s offering me a room within my budget. I was getting ready to move out.”

  “And you didn’t tell us?” Gloria walked toward him, heels clicking as she went. “You were just going to leave?”

  “No.” Henry looked between both of his parents, feeling put on the spot. Both of them were too absorbed in their own worlds to understand what he was going through. “I wanted to tell you, but the offer came about very suddenly. I figured I could move my things over and then tell you over dinner tonight.”

  Or at least something like that.

  Neither of them looked convinced. Henry scuffed the back of his shoe against the floor and tried to figure out a way to talk them down. Before he could speak, his father continued.

  “He’s leaving to room in the Anders’ house.”

  “Who?” Gloria frowned.

  “Christine and Mitchell Anders. Their son Caleb is back in town, the one everyone is talking about.”

  Gloria’s eyes sharpened with recognition, and she turned on Henry suddenly. “Henry, you will not move in with Caleb Anders.”

  The harsh words cut him deep, and Henry couldn’t help but wonder if there was something about Caleb that he didn’t know. Was the man in trouble with the law? Was his family dangerous? The strict way his mother spoke led Henry to believe there was something more going on.

  “Why not?” he asked simply. No longer was he afraid of what they might say — Henry was curious. Caleb had come across as a really nice, but closed off, guy.

  “It’s not good for your reputation,” Gloria replied. “You’re looking to set yourself up for life right now, and you don’t need your name to be associated with… that.”

  With what? Henry blinked and wrapped his arms across his chest. “What did Caleb do?”

  His mother and father exchanged looks.

  “The man is the town freak, Henry,” Victor said at last. “If you were to go live with him, it would reflect poorly on you. You need to think about everything you do in public, because it will shape how people view you.”

  Henry opened his mouth, then shut it again, stunned. He knew that his parents were obsessed with keeping up appearances, but to tell him not to take a roommate who was disfigured?

  “It will absolutely shape what people think of me,” Henry said once he found his tongue. “And I’d rather be known as someone who doesn’t think twice about rooming with a man who was disfigured than someone who scorned him because of it. I know you’re not happy with the choices I’ve made so far in life, and if I’m being truthful, I’m not so happy with them, either — but this? This isn’t a bad choice. I’m not going to give up my independence just because Caleb was in an accident. That’s just…” Anger bubbled inside of him, and Henry shook his head vigorously. “No. No, absolutely not. I’m not changing my plans because of something like that. I’m an adult, and my identity is my own. If this is a mistake, then it’s a mistake I’m willing to make.”

  Henry never got angry. Never. His parents had struck a nerve he didn’t think he possessed.

  “Henry—”

  “No.” Henry picked up his belongings, swinging his duffle bags over either shoulder. He tucked his blanket beneath his arm. “I love both of you, and I respect you, but this is something that I’m doing for me. I hope you can understand that.”

  Nothing more to say, Henry left the Weston estate and didn’t look back.

  He’d get his life together and land a job if it was the last thing he did.

  Caleb

  Caleb had lived alone in his Johnson City apartment, but for twelve full days each month, he lived at the station with the rest of his firefighting brothers. The twenty-four hour shifts he’d been responsible to work gave him an awareness of others and had taught him to respect personal space. Chores like cooking, cleaning, and grocery shopping were evenly divided amongst the crew. The quarters they shared were kept spotless, and Caleb assumed based on his work experience that everyone had equivalent respect for communal living spaces.

  He was wrong.

  Henry hit the house like a hurricane, making himself at home right away and bringing his clutter with him. For a man who insisted all he had to his name was a duffle bag and a half of clothes and small possessions, Caleb couldn’t step into a room without seeing a trace of him.

  Henry’s socks were discarded in the living room, of all places. His dirty pots and pans were in the sink from a lunch he’d insisted he cook for the both of them. The towels he used were crumpled in the bathroom sink instead of hung up to dry. Even in the back room, which was screened in and unheated, were traces of Caleb’s new roommate — Henry had put a box of peach soda out there to chill, and Caleb saw it sitting in the middle of the floor, crooked and torn open, every time he walked by the door.

  Every little thing, no matter how easy it was to fix, annoyed him. Henry lived like there were no consequences for his actions, or like he had no responsibilities. Caleb didn’t know how Henry could bring himself to live like that. After all, he seemed meek and shy, and even though he was paying rent, Henry was a guest in his house. Henry hadn’t signed a formal agreement to live there, so they were working by the honor system. Really, if he got fed up, he could turn Henry out at any time. He was under no obligation to let Henry stay.

  But I don’t want Henry to go.

  As annoying as he was, there was something nice about having someone living in the house. Hearing Henry come and go to his part-time job gave Caleb a sense of time that he’d lost since he was hospitalized. Watching Henry go about his business, whether it was doing laundry or running out to get something from the store, made the house feel like home.

  Caleb stewed on the thought as he made calls to medical facilities and rehabilitation centers. The sooner he knew when his appointments were, the sooner he could ask Kota if he was available to drive. With one eye severely damaged, Caleb didn’t always feel safe behind the wheel on his own.

  On their fourth morning together, Henry rolled out of bed late and came downstairs with bedhead. He reached up and grabbed onto the doorway of the kitchen as Caleb went about getting breakfast ready for the day. He knew he was under no obligation to cook for Henry, but Henry had been going out of his way to cook for him. It was only right that he repay the favor.

  Henry stretched his back and yawned, and Caleb did his best not to look at him. The clothes Henry wore weren’t tight, but they were flattering. Seeing Henry look so good and knowing that he couldn’t touch him reminded Caleb of everything he’d lost. Before the accident, he’d had men begging for his attention. Now, he’d be lucky to get a sympathetic look.

  “Mm, morning,” Henry moaned from the doorway. He spoke through a yawn. “You want me to take over?”

  “No, it’s fine.” Caleb stirred the breakfast hash in the skillet in front of him. “It’s almost ready. You want to grab some plates?”

  “Sure.”

  Henry released the door frame and entered the room, pulling two clean plates out of the dish rack. Caleb had just scrubbed them down from last night’s dinner. He set them by the stove, brushing by Caleb as he did. The simple touch tingled in the pit of Caleb’s stomach, and he momentarily closed his eyes and tried to push it aside.

  Caleb couldn’t have Henry, no matter how badly he wanted him. No one was ever going to want a man as hideous as him. Henry was young and attractive and fun, and he deserved someone handsome to keep him safe.

  What are you even thinking about?

  “Plates are ready. Do you want something to drink? I can brew some coffee while you’re cooking. Or do you prefer something else? Juice?”

  “Coffee’s fine.”

  Caleb knew that keeping his respons
es minimal was the best way forward. If he got attached, it would only hurt him in the end. Kota hadn’t recommended Henry as a roommate so that Caleb could fall for him. Henry is a business arrangement and nothing more.

  “Black?” Henry asked. He filled the kettle at the sink. On his second day, he’d discovered the French press, and since then he’d been making coffee regularly. Caleb had cleaned the coffee grounds of out of the press on more than one occasion.

  “Just enough creamer to lighten it,” Caleb said, keeping his voice distant. “There’s some in the fridge.”

  “I know,” Henry said a little too enthusiastically. “I thought maybe you’d bought it to keep on hand for guests, or in case I wanted any. I hadn’t noticed it being depleted.”

  Caleb shrugged. “Haven’t been drinking much coffee.”

  “Oh.” Henry reached over him to put the kettle down. “Can you turn on the kettle, please?”

  He was so close that his words were hot on Caleb’s ear. Caleb resisted the urge to shiver. Was it his imagination, or did Henry smell good?

  “Got it.” Caleb turned the burner on high and scraped the hash from the bottom of the skillet. The potatoes were almost ready.

  “What are you doing today?” Henry asked. No matter how coldly Caleb treated him, he was always cheerful and conversational. The shy man Caleb had met at Crossroads wasn’t the same person as the man who now lived in his house.

  “Nothing.” Caleb had made his calls earlier that morning, and apart from his exercise regimen, he had nothing else going on. Being without work was terrible. He missed the long days spent in the station, laughing with the guys and saving lives. Firefighting gave Caleb purpose, and he wasn’t sure what else could fill its place.