by A. M. Arthur
“They arrest who did it?” Taz asked.
Will blinked at the screen, uncertain how to answer that. “Some of them.” Three men, plus his mother. But the case was still, technically, open, even three years later.
“Some of them?” His voice went darker, deeper, and Will was glad they weren’t in the same room, because the force of Taz’s anger, even through the crappy speaker, was making his insides shake.
“I can’t talk about this anymore.” He hated how his voice was shaking, but he couldn’t stop it. He drew his knees to his chest and started rocking.
“Okay. I’m sorry.” Soothing now. So much better than mad. “I’ve never wanted to hurt other people so badly before. Jesus Christ.”
Will blinked hard. No one had ever wanted to do violence to others on his behalf. Not ever. Didn’t stop the shaking, though. Or the driving need to change the subject. “Why do you like being called Taz?”
He made a funny sound, like he was trying to laugh but it got caught on his temper and strangled. “My real name is Thomas Zachary, so the initials were kind of there from the start. But in elementary school I started acting out a lot. Got the nickname Tasmanian Devil, and the name kind of came out of that.”
“Oh. I like it. Will’s boring.”
“I think Will’s a nice name.”
The compliment eased some of his nerves. “Thanks. I mean, I guess I could have been stuck with something really weird, like Ernest or Voldemort.”
Taz laughed. “I hear you. When I was in foster care, I was in a house with two brothers named Romeo and Tybalt. For real.”
Will had never read the play, so he tried to remember the weird modern movie version he’d seen on TV a long time ago. But it was so hazy, his early life. When things were sucky but hadn’t descended into hell yet. No luck remembering who Tybalt was, but he played along so he didn’t sound stupid. “Guess their parents were Shakespeare fans,” Will said.
“Guess so. Anyway...you still keen to meet?”
“Of course.”
He could hear Dr. Taggert’s voice in the back of his mind, warning him about meeting up with near strangers he’d met in an online chat room.
It wasn’t in a hookup room. Chat only.
Predators know how to put you at ease, he’d reply.
We’ll meet in public.
The voice stayed quiet. Good. Besides, he was making friends.
He hoped. He really needed Taz to be who he said he was.
“Do you know Benton Park?” Will asked.
“Yeah, it’s not too far from where I live.”
It was three blocks’ walking distance from Will, which meant they at least lived on the same side of the city, possibly even the same neighborhood. “There’s some trees and benches on one side, opposite the bus stop. Want to meet there?”
“Right now?” Taz didn’t sound keen on the idea.
Will wanted to meet him now more than anything else in the world. He needed that stable connection he’d thought he’d found in Guy. “Sure. I can bring food. It’s getting close to dinnertime. We can picnic or something.” Christ, could he sound any cheesier?
“Um.”
Oh shit, I fucked up again.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think,” Will said. His hands were trembling again, damn it. “I know you don’t like going out because of your scars. Shit. It’s just, I don’t know you, so I can’t go to your place, because that’s a guaranteed freak-out, even though I don’t think you’ll hurt me, but...fuck.”
Taz laughed. “We’re a pair, aren’t we?”
“I guess. Maybe we should stick to talking this way.”
“No.” Resolve deepened his voice. “It’s evening. Trees cast shadows. I’ll wear a hat. I can do this. I need to do this. I haven’t walked farther than the corner bodega in over a year.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I can walk to meet you.”
Hope tried to rise up again. “Are you really sure? What if you have an episode? I don’t want to be the reason—”
“You didn’t throw acid on me, Will. It wouldn’t be your fault.”
It would feel like his fault. “What do you like to eat? There’s a great sandwich shop near here. One of those quirky places that sells giant kosher dills right out of a barrel.”
“Um, they got roast beef?”
Will ran down his mental list of the different sandwiches on their board. “Yeah, pretty sure. Special fixings?” He yanked a notebook off the stack under his bed and scribbled Taz’s complex list of toppings on an empty page. “Okay, if they have all that, I’ll ask for it.”
“Thanks. And I can bring sodas. I have root beer, cola and diet cola in my fridge.”
“That’s a lot of soda for one person.”
“Don’t like water. I know it’s good for you, but...”
Will heard the shrug he couldn’t see. He laughed. He really liked how easily Taz made him laugh. Few people could, besides Sam and Jennifer. Sometimes Sydney, the only other male resident in the house, but that wasn’t usually on purpose. Sydney had issues with paranoia. “I like root beer.”
“Awesome.”
He glanced at the time. “So meet you there around six thirty?”
“Okay.”
“If it helps, I’m nervous too.”
Taz let out an audible breath. “It does help. Thanks. So I’m looking for a guy with shaggy brown hair, little shorter than me, on a bench beneath the trees.”
Will groaned. “Um, I may have exaggerated one thing on my profile.”
“Cock size?”
That got another well-deserved laugh, because the chat-only profiles didn’t have a spot to list those inches. “No. Height. I said I was five-six, but I’m only five foot. I’m a midget.”
Taz chuckled; Will really loved that sound. “Don’t worry about it. But thanks for the heads-up. Otherwise I might have stepped on you without realizing.”
“Ha. Ha.” He owned his size. Shit diet from birth to adulthood, combined with unlucky genetics. His mother had been petite, too.
His gut rolled, and he shoved all thoughts of Marjorie away.
“So I’ll see you at six thirty?” Taz asked.
“Absolutely. See you then.”
Will snapped his laptop shut, then stowed it under his mattress. He ripped the sheet of notebook paper out and tucked it into his pocket, stupidly excited to try something as panic inducing as dinner in a public park. With a man he’d never met before. A man he wanted to get to know better instead of run away from.
A man whose laughter made him feel safe instead of cornered.
Dr. Taggert might have put a moratorium on Will’s obsession with anonymous sexual hookups for a while, but he couldn’t possibly have a reason to object to Will making a new friend.
And even if Dr. Taggert did object, Will was pretty sure he wouldn’t give a shit. Not this time.
Chapter Two
Taz stared at his computer long after he’d shut down his browser, equal parts thrilled and terrified and not sure which one was going to win this time.
He’d joined the chat room six months ago out of sheer loneliness, needing to establish some sort of connection with other human beings, without the awkwardness of face-to-face meet-cutes. No one wanted to look at him for long periods of time, not even his own dad.
Not that his dad, Peter Callahan, avoided looking at him, exactly, but Taz remembered what it was like before the acid. When he’d been a good-looking athlete with a ton of friends. Now he was a guy folks either stared at in fascinated horror or they avoided looking at altogether. Considering his dad had only ever known him with the acid scars, he did a better job meeting in the middle.
Peter visited several times a week, bringing him cold groceries
and things he couldn’t get off Amazon. Treating him like a human being with thoughts and feelings, reminding Taz there was someone out there who cared about him.
Taz tried to stand, to go get the two sodas he’d promised to bring to this meeting with Will. Even thinking Will’s name made him smile. Taz had surprised himself by initiating the voice chat, and then immediately wondered why he’d waited so long. Will had an addictive voice. Soft without being weak. Strong, even when he sounded upset. And his laughter made Taz’s heart flutter.
Will was also the first person he’d told about the scars who hadn’t stopped messaging him right away. He still wanted to meet Taz in person, and that scared the holy hell out of him. As much as Taz craved communication and contact beyond his father, he didn’t want to get his heart broken again.
You’re just friends, moron. You’re having dinner like friends do. Don’t make it bigger. Give him a chance to run away before you hand your heart over like a desperate idiot.
He got his body to cooperate and stood from his desk chair. Stretched, since he’d been sitting for about two hours straight. His work-at-home job as a transcriptionist had been a godsend—one more thing to thank Peter for—and he loved his ergonomic chair, but all that sitting had given him a pooch he’d have tormented his own damned self over in college. Sometimes he really missed the energy of the gym. The teasing, the camaraderie, the push to do better. Hell, he even missed the smells of pit sweat and funky socks.
Once, a few months ago, he’d considered one of those gyms open twenty-four hours, hoping he could go in at some obscure hour when maybe no one would be there. The instant the girl at the desk saw him, her expression sent him fleeing. He never went back. When he told Peter about the total failure, Peter had encouraged him to order whatever he wanted in terms of home gym equipment.
Taz had yet to take him up on that offer. He’d cost Peter so much money already.
Now he kind of regretted that. His shirt was loose enough that maybe he’d only look stocky, instead of flabby. Not that he expected Will to cruise him at all; he’d already been warned about the scars.
He strode across the small living room to the attached kitchen. Rustled a plastic bag out from under the sink and put two cans of cold root beer in it. It was off-brand, but he thought it tasted the same as the popular stuff, and hopefully Will wouldn’t mind. He stopped in the bathroom to take a piss and comb his hair into neater waves. Making himself presentable without actually looking at his broken skin had become a kind of game since he’d moved into this apartment.
The row of prescription bottles on the counter mocked him with their sheer number. He wasn’t due anything for a few hours, but walking to the park was going to do a number on his anxiety. He tucked one of the bottles into his jeans pocket, in case.
Then he plunked a Blue Rocks cap on his head and stared at the front door of the apartment for a solid minute. Muscles frozen. Heart fluttering.
Cruel, hateful people were on the other side of that door.
So is Will. He’s funny and nice, and he’s waiting for you.
A roast beef sandwich was also waiting for him, fresh from a deli Will recommended, piled with all sorts of great things. Even if all he got out of this was a sandwich and a conversation, he could live with that. It was more than he’d had in a long fucking time.
Move your right foot forward. Good. Left foot next. Good. Keep going.
The mental exercise got his limbs to loosen, and he palmed his keys as he reached for the knob. Turned it. Pulled it open.
“Push through it, Zachary, you aren’t a quitter!” Words spat at him by his wrestling coach during a particularly brutal training run. He’d been recovering from a chest cold, which had diminished his lung capacity, and he’d fallen behind the other runners.
“I’m not a quitter,” he said to the empty hallway beyond his door. He stepped out, then locked his door behind him.
Sounds from other apartments drifted to him. Voices and noise that could be televisions or music. The hall smelled like old cigarettes and mildew. It was stifling. He wanted fresh air. Needed fresh air. So he started walking again.
His entire journey from the apartment to the sidewalk across from the park was an exercise in stop-and-start techniques. In visualizing himself moving so he could cross the street before the light changed. Keeping forward motion, attention straight ahead, ignoring every single person he passed.
No one ran screaming, so that was something.
He waited for the signal to change so he could cross the street to the park. He was on the bus stop side, so Will would be diagonal from him, the farthest point away. The earnest way Will had admitted to lying about his height came back to mind and made him smile. He really didn’t care much what Will looked like, as long as he stayed as kind and friendly as he’d been online, once he’d seen the monster he was eating with.
Other pedestrians began streaming down the crosswalk. Taz kick-started himself into going with the flow, just another person heading home after work or out to dinner with friends. A normal fucking person.
The small park took up a section of a block that had once all been housing, in a neighborhood effort to get more green areas into their city. The grass was a sickly green, but the trees were growing strong at the far end, and the playground equipment wasn’t rusty enough to be dangerous. Someone had even planted a few flower beds inside old tires here and there.
Instead of walking as the crow flies, he stuck to the perimeter, away from the scattering of kids and various others enjoying the hot July evening outdoors. Two metal benches faced each other beneath the shade of three closely planted trees, and a small, slim figure was pacing between them.
Taz checked the time on his phone—6:50. Shit.
Ice dropped hard in his belly, threatening to keep him rooted to the ground. He was late and if that was Will, he looked frantic.
I’ve already fucked this up. Fantastic.
And he couldn’t get his goddamn limbs to move. Adrenaline spiked, putting a bitter taste in his mouth. His heart raced. This whole thing had been a huge mistake.
Maybe-Will turned a neat pivot, his hands clutching a white paper bag, and he froze. Seemed to look right at him. His entire body seemed to wilt with...what? Dread? Relief? From the distance of about thirty feet, Taz wasn’t sure.
The boy strode toward him, his lean body perfectly advertised under a pair of well-fitted jeans and a green dress shirt that looked tailor-made for his coloring. Shaggy brown hair, as advertised. The closer he got, Taz saw more details. Wary brown eyes. Scuffed loafers on his feet. And fuck, he was small. Barely came up to Taz’s shoulder, and he wasn’t exactly a giant. He also brought with him the intoxicating scents of meat, pickles, and something soapy.
“Taz?” the boy asked.
That voice.
“Yeah.” Taz cleared his throat hard. “Yes. Hi. Will?”
“Yup.”
His gaze lingered on Taz’s face, and for the briefest moment, Taz forgot there was anything ugly to see, because Will smiled at him. He didn’t flinch or grimace or look away fast. He held eye contact, no guard up, but his anxiety was clear in the way his fingers trembled against the paper bag.
“I’m late,” Taz said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be.”
Will nodded. “Was it hard walking here?”
“Yeah. My episodes are more like freezing up. I can’t make anything move, not even to protect myself. I have to work to get going again.”
“I’m kind of the opposite. I go into full-on shaking, shivering, caught in dark moments mode. I fucking hate it.”
“Me too.”
“And how sick are you of people who don’t understand saying, ‘But at least you’re alive’?”
Taz snorted. “So true. Platitudes don’t help.”
“Not really.” He held up
the bag. “Hungry? They might be a bit soggy, but I’m starving.”
He bit back the boneheaded instinct to say he looked like he was starving, because rude. Will also hadn’t put a lot of oomph in that statement, which suggested he wasn’t actually all that hungry. Taz was, though.
“Definitely,” he replied. “I brought drinks. They might be kind of warm now, though. Sorry.”
“It’s fine, I’ve drunk worse things than warm root beer.”
Taz chewed on that as Will led him over to one of the benches. He put the bag in the middle, so Taz sat on the other side and watched while Will emptied the bag of two wax paper–wrapped sandwiches, some napkins, and a plastic, twist-tied baggie with two giant green pickles in it.
“I love their dill pickles,” Will said. “I got another one in case you wanted one. I wasn’t sure, but you asked for pickles on your sandwich, so...” He trailed off, his cheeks pinking up.
“I do, thanks.” The thoughtfulness made him like Will even more than he already did. He unwrapped his sandwich, mouth watering at the thick stack of roast beef, lettuce, tomato, pickles, sweet peppers, raw onion, and mayo, all pressed between two pieces of thick-cut rye bread.
It tasted ten times better than it looked, and Taz was four solid bites in before he realized Will wasn’t eating. He had a half sandwich in his hand, something pale like turkey or chicken, but he was staring at Taz. And not in the “ew, gross” way that he expected from people nowadays, but in a “you fascinate me” kind of way. It made his skin prickle.
“Am I being noisy or chewing with my mouth open?” Taz asked.
“No, sorry. I’m just...taking you in.”
Taz flinched.
“No!” Will winced at his volume. “It’s not the scars. I mean, I see them, sure, but it’s all of you.” Despite being embarrassed, Will gave him a full once-over that had Taz paying closer attention.
Had Will seriously just cruised him?
Taz glanced at his rounded belly. “Well, there’s plenty of me.”