Danny tried to imagine his brother or sisters doing something so horrible. How would he feel? Would such cruelty erase the years of love and support? Could it?
Danny chose his words carefully. “I think you can love someone and hate what they do. You can love and look back on the good times, and distance yourself from them in your future.”
Yellow light illuminated the Jeep. Neither of them said anything until the passing car had disappeared into the black night.
“I had to testify at the trial.”
“Against your brother?”
Brad let out a bitter laugh. “Sort of, but not quite. The prosecution wanted me as a witness to the motivation of the attack. Turns out the defense wanted me for the same reason.”
“Jesus. Seriously? How does that work?”
“In order to prosecute Nolan’s attack as a hate crime, they had to prove Nolan acted because Carson was gay, essentially proving Nolan knew and the knowledge led to the assault.” Brad rested his chin on his upraised knee.
“And the defense?”
“My brother’s defense was he was protecting me. He told everyone he’d caught Carson trying to force me. It was his duty, you see, to look out for his baby brother.”
“What did you do?”
“My parents tried to keep me from testifying. They had their lawyer file a couple of motions to have me exempted, first because of my age, then another one to protect the family’s interests. No go. I had to show up. So they came up with a new plan. They couldn’t keep me from going to the trial, but they figured they could spin my testimony to help Nolan. I was supposed to say Carson coerced me or brainwashed me or something.”
Brad’s face was neutral. He could have been talking about someone else. “They wanted you to lie?”
“Not in so many words. I think they convinced themselves it was the truth.”
When Brad didn’t say anything else, Danny asked, “What did you do?”
“I thought about running away. Just not showing up. By this time I’d been at Norton almost a year, and Georgia is a long way from St. Louis. But in the end I was a coward. They’d find me and then I’d end up in jail and be forced to testify anyway. So I followed directions like a good little boy and went to the trial.” Danny’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. What a terrible choice to make. Tell the truth and betray his family or lie to save the family and betray the ex. “What happened when you were on the stand? How did your parents react when you didn’t follow their script?”
“What makes you think I didn’t?”
“I’m getting to know you,” he said. “You don’t have it in you to lie, especially in court, no matter what the consequences. You’re too good, too honest.”
Brad hugged his knees tighter. “Yeah, well, fat lot of good it did. I had to admit I was in a secret relationship with Carson. The prosecution loved forcing me to admit I hid it from my family, my brother, because I feared their reaction. The defense loved forcing me to admit my brother and his friend caught Carson and me together, which seemed to support my brother’s story about protecting me. In the end, I was forced into admitting to the world, or at least the courtroom, I was gay, and my testimony didn’t make a difference. The prosecution had enough evidence without me, and no one was buying my brother’s claims of protection since the attack took place a few days after he’d caught Carson and me together.”
Danny reached over and rested his hand on Brad’s shoulder. Brad’s body vibrated like one of Bobby’s guitar strings.
Brad looked at Danny for the first time since he’d started talking. “Have you ever stood in front of an entire room of people who hated you? Who judged you?”
Danny shook his head.
“That’s what it was like. My brother glared at me, blaming me for what he did. My parents looked at me like I was some kind of nasty bug they found crawling out of the drain. I swear, even the judge watched me like I couldn’t be trusted.”
“Did you see Carson during the trial?”
Brad began rocking in the seat. Danny didn’t think he was even aware of the movement. “Yeah,” he finally said. “That was the worst. I swear, he hated me as much as he hated Nolan. No one, not the lawyers, not my family, would let me near him. I wanted to see how he was doing, to apologize, but they rushed me in for my testimony and rushed me out afterward.”
Danny wanted to tell Brad again that it wasn’t his fault, that he wasn’t responsible for his brother’s actions, and make him repeat it over and over until Brad believed it. But nothing he said would convince Brad, not with Brad in the mood he was in. Again, Danny wished his father was there. Papá always seemed to know the right thing to say in any situation.
He had a pretty good idea what his father would say. But would it help or would it simply piss Brad off? Only one way to find out.
“You need to quit feeling sorry for yourself.”
“Excuse me?”
Danny winced at the betrayal in Brad’s voice, but didn’t let it stop him. “That’s some serious shit, and it sucks. But you’re letting the guilt ruin your future. As a student, you qualify for Carleton’s student health services. Find someone who can help you deal with this so you can move on. Don’t let it define you.”
Brad jerked away, looking out his window. “You don’t know anything about it. You with your perfect family, you wouldn’t understand.”
“You’re right.” Danny shifted the Jeep into Drive. “I don’t know what it’s like to go through the things you’ve gone through. That doesn’t mean my life has been perfect. You try growing up Mexican and gay in a town the size of Northfield. I was a prime target for bullies and bigots. But I know God wouldn’t give anyone more than they can handle. We can take the challenge, survive and grow from it, or sit back and let it crush us. Personally, I’d rather kick ass than get mine kicked.”
“Whatever.” Brad jabbed at the radio, turning the volume up high. He spent the rest of the drive ignoring Danny.
By the time they pulled up in front of the house, though, Brad’s angry posture had slumped and, instead of stubborn, he looked weary.
They’d retrieved their bags from the back seat when Brad, not quite meeting Danny’s gaze, asked, “Do you really believe that?”
“Believe what?”
“Believe God wouldn’t give us more than we can handle?”
“Yeah, I do. I believe in fate, or predestination, whatever you want to call it. I believe everything happens for a reason. When bad shit happens, the way we deal with it defines us and, ultimately, impacts how we handle things in the future. Take my grandparents. They came to America with nothing, migrant workers following the crops. When mi papá was born, they didn’t have a real home, only a room they rented. Abuelo didn’t want to raise a family on the road, so he worked two jobs and Abuela did people’s laundry to make extra money so they could build a house. They still live in that house. And that house, and the pride my grandparents had in it, is one of the reasons mi papá got into construction. He wanted to build houses and give people homes like the one he grew up in. See, things happen for a reason.”
As he spoke, Danny led Brad up the driveway and to the back stairs leading up to Brad’s apartment. When they reached the door, Brad inserted the key in the lock, but didn’t open it. He tilted his head back and looked up toward the stars.
“I’m tired of keeping my distance, tired of being so alone. But I’m scared. I couldn’t take it if something happened to you or your family and it was my fault.”
Hope surged through him. Brad had been thinking about them together, not just the consequences. That had to be progress, right? “Nothing’s going to happen.”
“You can’t know that.”
“Okay, but even if something did happen, it wouldn’t be your fault. And what will you be missing out on if you keep everyone at a
rm’s length?”
Brad bowed his head and opened the door. “I think... I think I’m going to work on it.”
Danny shoved his free hand into the pocket of his red jeans to keep from touching Brad. Given everything that had happened today, Brad might take it as pressure. “Good.”
“Thanks for bringing me home. I’m sorry I screwed up your weekend.”
He couldn’t help it. Danny pulled his hand out of his pocket and grabbed Brad’s shoulder. “It’s no biggie. It’s what friends are for.” More than friends someday, he hoped. “Good night, Brad. Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He’d made it halfway down the stairs before Brad called his name. Danny looked up.
“Tomorrow night,” Brad began, then paused long enough Danny worried he had changed his mind about what he was going to say. “Tomorrow night,” he began again, “do you want to do something? I’d like to make it up to you for screwing things up today.”
The voice in Danny’s head that was squealing He wants to go on a date! was cut off abruptly. Brad wanted to apologize. Danny shook his head. “Nah, man, you don’t have to. We’re cool. I promise.”
Brad swallowed hard before saying, “Come by tomorrow night. We’ll hang out, maybe figure out something to do?”
The squealing inner voice started to sing and dance. It wasn’t a date, but a step in the right direction. “Yeah, that’d be cool.”
“Cool.”
Danny waited until the door had shut behind Brad before he grinned. Yes! Maybe it hadn’t been such a bad night after all.
“What are you doing here?” his brother’s voice demanded from the other side of the screen door to the kitchen.
Danny jumped and dropped his backpack. “Shit, Ray, you scared the crap out of me. What are you doing sneaking around at this time of night?”
Ray held open the screen door with his shoulder and crossed his arms across his chest. “I just got home. Aren’t you and what’s-his-face supposed to be out camping or something?”
“We came back early.” No way was he going to explain to Ray about Brad’s panic attack, not as long as Ray was still calling him “what’s-his-face.”
“Obviously. I saw your little exchange on the stairs. Looked awfully romantic. For a minute, I thought maybe you’d be spending the night with him.”
“What’s with you?” His brother had been acting weird for months now, and it had only grown worse since he’d gotten beat up and dropped to the curb like a bag of garbage. Danny pushed past Ray and caught a whiff of alcohol. “Christ, you’ve been drinking? Don’t let Mamá catch you. She’ll skin you alive.”
“It was a couple of drinks with the guys, no big deal. Besides, Mamá is sound asleep. Since when did you care about underage drinking? It’s not like you haven’t tossed a few back now and then.”
“Yeah, but I’ve never driven home after.” Danny stared pointedly at the keys still clutched in Ray’s hand. “Obviously, you did. I can’t believe you’d be so dumb.”
“It was only a few beers. I’m fine.”
“Whatever.” Danny shifted his backpack more securely over one shoulder. “I’m not in the mood to do this tonight.”
Ray grabbed his arm before he got more than a few steps.
“Hold up,” Ray said, “I wanted to talk to you.”
“About what?” He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, suddenly tired, the events of the day and the hours in the Jeep catching up with him.
“I wanted to warn you. Don’t get too attached to the new guy.”
“His name is Brad. And why do you care? Are you worried he’ll break my heart? It’s very sweet of you, but I’m a big boy. I can handle my own love life.” He could practically taste the venom dripping off his tongue. Everything about his brother rubbed him the wrong way lately. The last thing Danny wanted was Ray’s input about his love life, especially after the scene with Rob.
“No, but you don’t want to get too close to him. There’s been talk on the job. Tools are going missing, and folks are pretty sure he’s to blame.”
“If you’re talking about the finishing nailer—”
“It’s not only the nailer,” Ray interrupted. “There have been other tools too, and they’re all from sites where he’s working.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. There are a lot of people working the same sites as Brad. You and me and Jesús.”
“Are you trying to tell me you’re stealing tools? Or Jesús, who’s been working with Papá for over a decade, suddenly decided to collect random—and extremely pawnable—tools?”
No, Jesús wouldn’t have taken anything. He’d cut off his own hand before betraying Danny’s father. “That doesn’t mean it’s Brad.”
“Have you seen his jeans?”
“What do his jeans have to do with anything?”
“He wears two-hundred-dollar jeans, yet the guy can’t afford a pair of safety glasses? Are you kidding me?”
Danny had never paid attention to Brad’s jeans, but if they were worth a couple of bills, Ray would know, the clothes whore. But still. Brad seemed too...wholesome to steal from Danny’s father.
“I don’t buy it,” Danny said. “You don’t know Brad. If you did, you’d know something like that is totally not his style. You better not be spreading any rumors.”
“I don’t have to spread it around. People are already thinking it. Papá is going to talk to Brad one of these days, you can bet on it.”
This is so not good. Ignoring the icy sludge creeping through his intestines, Danny tried to sound casual. “Whatever. Just go don’t telling tales. Papá will figure it out, and you’ll be the douche who was wrong.”
Chapter Fourteen
He was a fucking moron. A pansy-assed pussy. Every name and slur he’d been called during his two years at Norton Academy raced through his mind and gave him a metaphorical kick to the balls of his pride. Brad turned up the volume of his iPod and increased his running speed. If the music didn’t drown out the poisonous thoughts in his head, hopefully the burning of his lungs and muscles would distract him from them.
He’d woken that morning to blinding sunlight and the humiliating memories of the previous night. First he’d had some kind of ridiculous fit and then he’d gotten all pitiful and woe-is-me and shit. No wonder Danny had told him to get over himself. Not cool, Greene, not cool at all. Did he have to dump all of his emotional baggage on Danny in one day? Halting at a four-way stop sign, Brad bent at the waist and tried to catch his breath while a bakery van crossed the intersection. As soon as the way was clear, he took off at the same breakneck speed as before. By his rough estimation, he’d made it about a mile and a half when the endorphins kicked in. With the chemical rush came the calmness and clear-headedness he’d been hoping for.
Danny had been exactly right. Brad could get over himself and the issues of his past, or he could let them define him. Did he want to live like a recluse, never getting close to anyone? Sure, he couldn’t be hurt that way, but would he experience any kind of happiness? He thought back through the last two years. He’d practically been a robot. He’d done what needed to be done—no more, no less—and kept to himself. The only person he’d interacted with in anything like a social way was Mr. Cavanaugh, and that had been a student-teacher thing.
Mr. Cavanaugh had tried, Brad realized. He couldn’t count the times Mr. Cavanaugh had attempted to get him to open up, to get involved. He’d thought it had been because, as Brad’s advisor, it had been Mr. Cavanaugh’s job. But maybe there had been real compassion in his eyes and voice. He’d missed it because he’d barricaded himself away from the scorn and ridicule of the students and instructors alike.
It had been Mr. Cavanaugh who had introduced him to running, which had become Brad’s escape, his ammunition against the depr
ession that crept closer each month under the disdain and blame from his parents and the overwhelming guilt over Carson’s attack. The instructor had also introduced him to the satisfaction he could get from building something, from planning and completing a project. Hell, he might need to send Mr. Cavanaugh a thank-you note for making his years at Norton bearable.
The Ortegas were a lot like Mr. Cavanaugh, only bolder and brighter in their approach. They didn’t suggest or encourage Brad to be social and be part of the group. They pulled him in and practically made him part of the family. A family that wanted him. A family that actually liked him. It was fucking amazing.
Danny was right. It was time to get over himself and stop letting his past fuck up his future. Brad was smart enough to recognize it wouldn’t be easy. It wasn’t as though he could suddenly erase years of habits and survivor’s instincts. But he could start with little things. He could start with Danny. Danny’d been open about his interest from the beginning. Maybe Brad could try dating the guy. Well, that might be jumping the gun. One step at a time. Inviting him to hang out was a good start.
His plan set, Brad slowed his pace to an easy jog. He arrived at the Ortegas’ in time to see Mrs. Ortega trying to hold three bakery boxes in one arm while trying to open the back door of her minivan with the other. Her jumbo-sized purse slid off her shoulder, shifting the stack of boxes. The top box started to slide and Brad jumped forward, catching it before it could slip off the pile.
“Let me get that for you, Mrs. Ortega,” he said, reaching around her and opening the door. She set the boxes on the back seat and pulled the purse off her arm and set it in the foot well behind the driver’s seat.
“Thank you, Bradley.” She straightened up, the top of her head barely reaching his chin. She patted his cheek and he could smell cinnamon and maple on her hands.
Nobody’s Hero Page 11