by Riley Hart
His head still hurt. His father’s words still circled his brain. Weak. Fucked up. Leader.
He went around each sharp corner, his speed still rising, his heart beating faster as he went. Eighty, eighty-five.
Jesus, he couldn’t breathe. Why in the hell couldn’t he breathe?
Max jerked the car to the side of the road. Slamming the brakes, nearly running off the edge and into a ditch.
The second the car stopped, he jumped out, gasping for breath that he couldn’t find. He held his chest, bent over, and vomited in the dirt.
When his pulse slowed and his breathing evened out, he got back into his car. He’d be okay. He’d freaked out. No one had seen. Everything was okay.
When he pulled into the parking lot at Lucky Rose, he saw the whole team was in fact there. He rinsed his mouth out with an old Gatorade in his car, opened the door and spit it out, before popping a mint past his lips and going inside.
“Sullivan! What took you so long, fucker?” Jonathan called and everyone laughed.
“I was busy with your mama. She gives the best head,” Max replied and earned harder laughter than Jonathan had.
Your peers need to be able to look at you to lead.
He glanced to the left and saw Shane bussing a table. He knew his father hadn’t meant people like Shane when he spoke about Max’s peers. He meant Jonathan and Jimmy and the rest of the team.
Shane turned with a gray bin in his hands full of dishes.
“Oops,” Max replied as he walked by and hit it with his hand, so it toppled to the floor, dishes going everywhere. “Sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
The laughter got louder. His friends cheered for him. Shane bent down to clean the mess…looked up at him with hate in his eyes…hate and loneliness. Max fought the urge to stop, to apologize. To kneel beside him and help because that look that Shane gave him? He felt it too. The hate for himself every time he looked in the mirror and the loneliness every second of his life.
CHAPTER FIVE
Back at the auto shop, Shane hadn’t expected it to bother him as much as it had to see Maxwell. He’d never left Last Chance. He saw people like Jonathan every day of his life and let it roll off his back. He had his life and they had theirs and damned if he would let anyone think theirs was more important or that he’d put any thought into who they were or what they did.
Jonathan was still a dick but they were adults and were cordial to each other, even though there was obviously no love lost between them.
Seeing Maxwell had somehow been different. Maybe it was because he’d left, disappeared for twelve years without so much as a visit, so he hadn’t had time to put his past with Maxwell to rest.
Maybe it was because every time he thought about Maxwell, he saw the fear in his eyes that night at his house, when he’d said, “he’ll kill me,” and Shane had never forgotten it. He’d spent too much time thinking about it and wondering who Maxwell meant. If maybe there had been more to him than Shane saw, only for Max to fuck with him again and show there wasn’t.
And there he was, thinking about the motherfucker again.
“Shane?”
He shook his head and turned to Ryan at the sound of his voice.
“You okay, buddy? I said your name three times.”
Shane groaned, annoyed at himself for losing his mind to thoughts of Maxwell and wondering where in the fuck he’d been for twelve years. “Yeah, I’m good. What’s up?” He wiped the sweat off his brow and no doubt left a smudge of dirt or oil behind.
“I wanted to ask you something about this paperwork.” He showed an invoice to Shane and asked a few questions about the discount it showed, which Shane explained to him. They were done in less than three minutes.
He walked back into the stall just as a shadow cast around the corner. “Can I help you?” His eyes darted up and were met with ones he was just trying to forget. His body immediately went tight all over.
“Place looks great. It’s yours?” Max asked. His voice sounded careful, wary.
“Yep.” Shane started working on the car again. He didn’t know what Max was up to, but he wasn’t going to give him his full attention. “You shouldn’t be back here.”
“I came to apologize.”
No apology could make up for the years of bullying.
“What makes you think I want your apology?” He didn’t look up from what he was doing, though Max had his full attention. “Do you think I’ve been sitting around here for twelve years, waiting for the great Maxwell Sullivan to admit he’s an ass so I can get on with my life?”
“No,” he replied, “I don’t think that. I’m positive you want nothing to do with me.”
Shane met his gaze then. “And you’d be right.” He wasn’t being completely fair. There was a part of him that knew he wasn’t. He’d dealt with Jonathan so why couldn’t he deal with Max the same way and put it in the past?
Because in a strange way, it always felt different with him. After that night at my house, I saw something different in him. Something he didn’t show to anyone else. Something I always felt. Something in his eyes that none of the other guys showed.
Loneliness. Maybe even reluctant compassion.
But that couldn’t have been the case. If Max felt that way, he’d had a shitty way of showing it. Tripping him in the hallway, hiding his clothes after PE, torturing him every fucking time he worked at Lucky Rose, making bigger messes he knew Shane would have to clean, drawing a dick in ketchup, yelling “queer” at him when Shane walked down the street.
No, someone who treated another person that way couldn’t know what it was like to feel alone, because they would never put that on someone else.
So why did it feel different with Max? The ambiguous feelings he’d gotten from him made Shane even angrier and edgier, made him question things that were supposed to be black and white.
“We’re adults now. I was wrong. I hate what we did to you. I just thought….”
“You thought wrong,” Shane replied. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
He got to it then, but he was mad at himself for giving the guy the satisfaction of knowing his actions still bothered him after all those years. It took a moment for Max to walk away, but eventually, he did. It wasn’t until he’d heard the car drive away that Shane relaxed and breathed.
And he was pissed. Pissed at himself for letting himself react that way. Pissed at himself for feeling guilty. Pissed at himself that for a moment there, he’d felt like that helpless kid again.
He jumped when his phone rang in his pocket. He wished he could ignore it but knew it would be his mom.
“Yeah?” Shane snapped into the phone.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing. I’m having a bad day. Aren’t I allowed to have a bad day too?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted them back. “Fuck. I’m sorry.” It wasn’t fair for him to take his shit out on her.
“It’s okay. I just called to check in. I’ll let you get back to work, Shaney.”
“Are you sure everything is okay?” he asked.
“Yeah.” She paused. “Yeah, it’s fine.”
He made himself push Maxwell and his mom out of his head and got to work.
*
Van sat up on one of the old fire access roads and snapped another picture.
There was a partially burned couch, in what had obviously been a bonfire. Looked like the kids still came up there to party, the way they had when Van was a teenager.
When the weather was good, they’d make their way up the mountain—car after car of people, build a fire, and drink all night. That was all there’d been to do in Last Chance when they were playing sports, and they’d partied well.
He kicked a rock, walking around. When he saw a thin tree that was snapped in half, the top resting against another, he took another photo.
It wasn’t naked men, but for now it would have to do. He was sure there wouldn’t be an opportunity for t
hat while he was in Last Chance.
Hell, he didn’t even know how long he would be there.
So far it had felt like he’d come for nothing, which he’d known was the case before he came.
But the thing was, he and his mom had had their moments. She used to enjoy reading to him and they’d laughed about each of them having a sweet tooth.
When his dad was happy, she seemed to truly want to be a real family.
When his dad was upset, she’d turned a blind eye.
Tired of sitting up there pouting, Van climbed into his car and made his way down the mountain. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he’d gone to see Shane. It should have been exactly what he got. He sure as hell didn’t deserve anything more than that.
What? Did he think he’d walk down there, say he was sorry and that they’d be fast friends after that?
No, he knew that wouldn’t happen, but he’d hoped for forgiveness. He needed it, whether he deserved it or not. The way he’d treated Shane was one of his biggest regrets.
He’d been no better than his father.
Soon, the dirt road turned to asphalt. The road ended at a “T” where he took a right. He had driven for only a few minutes when he saw it—what looked like a woman in the distance, sitting on the side of the road. She was far enough back, close to the trees, that he almost missed her. She had her arms around her legs, her body rocking back and forth.
“What in the hell?” His heart dropped to his stomach. As soon as he got close enough to her to pull over, he knew exactly who she was.
He and his friends had painted FAG on her house, which was down the long driveway next to where she was sitting.
He’d been a real stellar guy, hadn’t he?
Van killed the engine and got out, making slow movements. She didn’t look at him, didn’t say anything to him either.
“Hello?” he said tentatively. “My name is Max Sullivan.” He gave her his real name because she likely knew his family. “Can I help you with something?” He wasn’t sure what to do, he didn’t want to move toward her too quickly and scare her.
“I know your son,” he said when she didn’t reply. “Shane. I just saw him at the shop a little while ago. I could call him for you.” He didn’t mention the fact that he’d bullied her son as a child and that Shane hated him. He just wanted her to feel comfortable and he figured mentioning Shane was the best way for that to happen.
She looked up at him then. “You know Shane?”
“I do.” He took a step closer, then another. “I used to live here. Just came back for a visit.” Another step. “His shop is great.” Another one. “I bet you’re real proud of him.”
She smiled then, and damned if it didn’t make his own heart speed up. It was the one a mother was supposed to smile when someone mentioned her child. The way he wished his own mom would smile. “I am. I’ve always been proud of him.”
“How about I call him for you?” he asked.
“No. I’m okay…I just need a few minutes. I’m okay. I don’t want to bother him. I just…I thought I could make it. I haven’t had an attack in a while.”
His heart broke her for; broke for Shane too. “Can I sit with you? I’ll give you my phone if that makes you feel safer.”
“I forgot my phone at home. How could I have forgotten it?” She reached up, rubbing a spot at the back of her head.
When Van reached her to sit down, he saw there was a small bald spot, as though she often played with the hairs there until they’d fallen out.
“Here’s my phone.”
“Thank you.” She took it and he was glad for it.
They sat in silence, in the gravel, for what felt like an eternity but he knew it was only a few minutes.
“Shane loves working on cars,” she said.
“Yeah, I bet he does.”
“He was always a natural. He used to work on them before he had any training. That’s my Shane, though. He can do anything if he sets his mind to it.”
Van could see that. Wished he’d had the chance to witness it in person.
“I’ve always envied people like that,” Van told her. “People who were good at everything.”
“Me too. Most of the time those people are assholes.”
“Not Shane,” Van said.
“Nope.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “What about you?” she asked and then said, “I’m sorry. You don’t have to sit out here and tell me anything. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. That’s my driveway right there.”
He knew it was. “Nah, I’m good. I have nowhere else I need to be. My father recently passed away. We weren’t close. I came to see my mom.”
They talked a little about how Van hoped he could find some kind of common ground with his mother. Annie, he’d learned her name was—because over the years he’d forgotten—said that they would, because mothers loved their sons too much for them to be lost to each other forever. He hadn’t given her all the details, of course, and he thought that might change things but right then he knew that wasn’t what she needed.
Right now, he thought, Annie Wallace just needed someone to listen.
He talked about living in Los Angeles, the ocean, and how weird it was being back here.
She told him Shane had built his own house on the same property as her—designed it himself. Again, he was good at everything, she reminded him.
They talked about movies and donuts in town and any and everything they could.
Hours went by. She seemed less fidgety than she had been. She wasn’t playing with the hairs around her bald spot anymore.
She was too young to look as tired as she did. He could see Shane in her. She had a very simple beauty to her face.
Van told her he was gay and waited for the possibility of a negative response but, if anything, her eyes brightened in a strange way. He wanted to reach out to her, make her feel comfortable, so he told her how he’d struggled with it at first, with accepting himself but that he realized if anyone had a problem with him, it was their problem and not his.
“I know it’s silly,” she said softly a little while later. “My house is a quarter of a mile down that driveway but I just…I panicked. I came out to check the mail. Shane usually does it but damn it, I should be able to check my own mail. He has too much responsibility. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t make myself move. I feel a lot better now.”
“Good,” he told her. He wanted to reach out and squeeze her hand but didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. “And it’s not silly. We all have our demons.”
“I’m tired. I think I need to go home now,” she told him.
“I can help you, or we can call Shane. Whichever you’d prefer.”
They didn’t have a chance to do either. A truck suddenly jerked into the gravel, kicking up flecks of gravel as it went. Shane jumped out, looking fierce, just as Van pushed to his feet.
“She’s okay,” Van quickly said. “I sat with her and just talked. She’s okay.”
“What are you doing?” Shane gave him a hard glare before he knelt beside his mom.
“I’m okay,” she repeated what Van had said. “It’s stupid. I just…I felt okay today, and I wanted to check the mail. You know how quick the panic attacks can hit sometimes. I feel ridiculous.”
“You look tired.” Shane gently pushed a lock of short hair behind her ear. “Come on. Let’s get you home. I can’t believe you didn’t call me.”
Shane helped her stand. He went to take her arm but she was holding Van’s phone in her hand. She held it out to him, and Shane watched intensely. Van saw a kaleidoscope of different emotions flash across his face as Annie passed the phone back.
“Thank you for talking to me,” she said.
“It was my pleasure.”
“You should come to dinner sometime with me and Shane. Wouldn’t that be nice, Shane? To thank him for sitting with me?”
The emotions on Shane’s face changed even more—confusion, anger, maybe a little shame. Van jumped
in to save him. “I appreciate that, but I couldn’t put you guys out. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be in town anyway.”
“Come on, Ma. Let’s get you home to rest,” Shane said. Without looking back, he led her to his truck and helped her in, the tires kicking up dust again when they pulled away.
Van realized then that no matter what he did or said, Shane would never forgive him. As much as that hurt to realize, he knew he deserved it.
CHAPTER SIX
Shane sat in a chair in his mom’s room, feet on the edge of her bed, the soft glow of a lamp in the corner. She’d been sleeping for hours, obviously needing it. Her panic attack and fear had no doubt taken a lot out of her.
It wasn’t as if she could never walk to the edge of the driveway to check the mail. Sometimes she could. Sometimes she couldn’t. Sometimes the panic and anxiety presented like agoraphobia for her, but that had never been her diagnosis. All the markers didn’t fit. She had major depressive disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, and panic disorder. Oh, and trichotillomania. When she was nervous, scared, or stressed, she played with the same spot of hair on her head to the point where she had a bald patch a little over the size of a quarter. That came and went.
That was her life.
That was his life.
He shook his head, frustrated at himself for going there. They were okay. They always made sure they were okay.
He looked up when he heard a soft sigh from the bed. His mom rolled over onto her side and faced him. Neither of them moved. Shane still in the chair, arms crossed, feet on the bed. He watched over her as she lay on her side with her legs curled.
After a few moments, she whispered, “I’m sorry, Shaney. This house is my solace. The only place in the world I’m totally comfortable in my skin, but sometimes it’s like the walls are closing in on me. Like I can’t breathe if I don’t get out. But then I get out and a different kind of panic sets in and I can’t breathe out there either. I’m sorry,” she said again.
Fuck. A fist squeezed tightly around his windpipe. Why did everything have to be so goddamned hard? Why couldn’t the medication or all the doctors just fix her? “There’s no reason to be sorry. You tried. You wanted out and you tried, but can you please talk to me beforehand next time? Just so I know what’s going on and can check on you?”