by Riley Hart
“You shouldn’t always have to check on me.”
“That’s what family is for,” he told her. They were all the two of them had. “I didn’t mean to snap at you on the phone. It was a hectic day.”
“You’re the last person in this room who needs to feel guilty about anything.”
Then they were quiet again, their breathing and her leg brushing against the sheet when she moved the only sounds in the room. She was the one to break the silence again. “I didn’t realize Max hadn’t been back once in the twelve years he’s been gone. He said he’s an artist—a painter and a photographer.”
Shane sat up a little straighter at that. Max Sullivan was a painter and a photographer? That surprised the shit out of him. “That’s good for him, if he’s happy, I guess.”
“He came back to help his mom because of his father passing away.” She shook her head. “So sad.”
Max was the last thing Shane wanted to talk about. It irked him that Max was trying to be nice, and to his mother of all people.
“You don’t like him,” she said when he didn’t respond.
“Not particularly.”
“Why?” she asked. “Was he one of the boys you fought with at school?”
There was no chance he would explain to her everything Max and Jonathan had put him through. It would kill her to know he’d suffered so much and never told her. It was easy to hide things from people who rarely left the house. “I just don’t think he’s a very nice person, Mom. But I guess I don’t know him anymore. It’s been twelve years.” He wasn’t sure he believed people could change that much though.
“He was nice to me. I don’t know what would have happened had he not been there today.” Shane winced at her words but she didn’t seem to notice and kept going. “He had to have sat in the rocks with me for a good three or four hours.”
His pulse kicked up a notch at that. Three or four hours? He hadn’t known that earlier. Hadn’t known she’d sat on the side of the road that long…and that Maxwell Sullivan had sat with her.
“He told me he’d paint me a picture of town. Said he could take some photographs too for me to look at when I was feeling restless. I don’t know if it will help, but it was a kind offer.”
Shane frowned. It was. And so fucking far from the Maxwell he’d known, he wouldn’t have believed it if anyone else had told him. What was he up to?
“He lives in Los Angeles. Did you know that? He talked about how different the beaches are there, which I knew, but it was both magical and depressing the way he made it sound.”
Shane’s feet slid off the bed and planted to the floor. What the fuck was going on? Max had sat with his mom for hours and talked her down, telling her stories about LA and making promises to her. Promises he’d damn sure better keep. “Why depressing?”
She gave him a small smile. “It’ll probably sound stupid but…it almost sounded lonely. Like there are all those people and all those things but as though everyone is too busy to enjoy it. Or like they’re so worried about their own little world that they don’t visit other people’s. I’m sure that sounds ridiculous coming from someone like me, but…maybe loneliness sees loneliness. I almost feel like I saw a piece of myself in that boy.”
Shane’s throat felt like it was going to close up. His brain wanted to shoot down what she was saying, give her stories and reasons why that couldn’t be true, but he didn’t. What the fuck did he know? But damned if what she said didn’t make him curious.
“Anyway, I’m rambling. The meds still have me feeling loopy. I think I’m going to go back to sleep. Go home, Shane. I’ll be fine.”
He almost said he’d sleep there but instead he nodded and pushed to his feet. “I might go fishing in the morning. Do you mind?”
She gave him a sad smile. “Of course, I don’t mind. And I’ll be a good girl and stay home instead of trying to take the world on by myself.”
“Are you sure? I can—”
“You can go. I want you to go. You’re not my keeper.”
But he was her keeper. He had to be. “Okay.” Shane leaned over and kissed her forehead. “I’ll get you some ice water before I go. If you’re feeling bad, you can have your anxiety meds any time now. No sleeping pills though. Everything else is still on schedule.”
“Yes, sir.” She chuckled but Shane didn’t return it.
He pushed the hair off her forehead and gave her another kiss. By the time he got back with her ice water, she was already asleep again.
It was after 2 a.m. by the time he got out of the shower and climbed into bed. He wouldn’t sleep—there wasn’t a chance of that. He’d spent the night tossing and turning and wondering what in the hell his mom had been talking about when it came to Max. She couldn’t be right. Couldn’t.
Still, when he rolled out of bed at five and packed his truck up with fishing supplies, he made his way to the Sullivan house instead of his quiet fishing spot. He may not be able to forgive the guy for the emotional scars he’d left on his own soul, but he could acknowledge what he’d done for his mom.
Thank you for your help yesterday. I owe you one.
Then before he talked himself out of it, Shane added to the note, scribbling down where he was going fishing. It was out of the way, and there was a chance Maxwell couldn’t find it or wouldn’t be interested. He almost hoped he wouldn’t, because he still wasn’t sure how he felt about the man. He appreciated the hell out of what Maxwell had done for his mom…but that didn’t wipe away years of hate.
At least he had done the right thing. He really did owe Maxwell…and there was a quiet part of him that wanted to know if what his mom thought about Maxwell was true. The boy he’d known before definitely wouldn’t have done what Max had done yesterday. Not unless he would get something out of it.
Shane left his truck running as he put the note under the windshield wiper of the car he’d seen Maxwell in yesterday, and before he could grab it back and rip it up, he got into his truck and drove away.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was early when Van woke to the sound of a soft engine. It wouldn’t have woken him in LA but it was different here—quiet. The sun rose on his side of the house, breaking through the shades much earlier than he usually climbed out of bed. It wasn’t as though he would be able to sleep much, anyway. His father was gone but the memories were still in every room of the house. His father’s ghost hid around every corner and in his mom’s eyes.
Not that she had ever done anything to hurt him, but she hadn’t done anything to protect him, either. Her loyalty was always with her husband.
Van pushed out of bed and stretched. He rubbed a hand across his stomach before making his way to the bathroom.
He needed to take a piss, make some coffee, and then go straight into his father’s office to start looking through paperwork, gathering anything his mom might need and tossing what she didn’t. It was the room he hated most, so he wanted it done first. The sooner he got things sorted out there, the faster he could get his ass back to LA where he belonged. When he left Last Chance this time, he knew there wasn’t a damn thing that could bring him back. He would be done with this place for good.
Van finished taking a leak, washed his hands, and then brushed his teeth. He stepped out of the bathroom and went straight for the window, where his suitcase sat on the seat below it. That was new. There hadn’t been a window seat there when Van was growing up.
After he pulled a paint-stained T-shirt from his suitcase, Van looked up, and his eyes caught something on the windshield of his car. He frowned, remembering the soft rumble he’d heard before he opened his eyes a few minutes earlier.
It was from Shane. Van didn’t know how he knew, but he knew. Jesus, the look on Shane’s face when he saw him. He’d thought it was full of hate at the diner, but that was nothing compared to the contempt directed his way when Shane caught him with his mom.
Could he blame Shane, though? After the things they’d all said about her? After the things he�
�d said and done to Shane himself? The truth was, he couldn’t blame Shane for the concern he likely felt over Van seeing his mom at a low point. He really fucking couldn’t.
Van tugged the tee over his head, changed his underwear, and then pulled on the jeans he’d worn the day before. He grabbed a pair of white socks from his suitcase, hopping toward the door as he pulled them on. His pulse beat faster than it had a few moments before. He hated the reality of the things he’d done, who he’d been when he lived in that town, and most of that self-hatred was because of the man who’d likely left a note on his car minutes earlier.
He jogged down the stairs, his pulse louder and louder in his ears. Van didn’t put his shoes on before unlocking the door and jogging out to his car, likely to be told to fuck off and die via car window note, which he would deserve.
That wasn’t what the note said, though. Thank you for your help yesterday. I owe you one. And then directions to a fishing area that Van vaguely knew. His father had never taken him. Jonathan’s dad had a few times, but it didn’t sound as though they’d gone to the exact spot Shane described, but it was close.
His eyes darted to the house. To the perfect paint, and perfect lawn, and the walls that held so many fucking nightmares. He needed to talk to his mom. Needed to see if there was any way they could salvage any part of their relationship, help her take care of whatever she needed to move, and get the hell out of there.
He glanced down at the note again, saw the anger in Shane’s face yesterday and the anger from their childhood.
He remembered the pride, too…the strength…the loyalty to his mother, and that goddamn loneliness that Van had felt matched his own.
Instead of going in and heading straight for his dad’s office, he slipped his shoes on, grabbed his wallet, keys, and phone, and went back out to his car. If he could try one more time to earn Shane’s forgiveness, he could go back to LA with a clearer conscience.
It didn’t take him long to get to the old dirt road. Van remembered it. The brush had grown more and the ground was rougher than it used to be. His car bottomed out once, but he ignored it, continuing to make his way between the trees and brush until the road veered to the left. Shane’s truck was parked there. When he was a kid, he would have continued to follow the road to go fishing, but instead, he parked beside Shane. Van snatched the note from the seat so he could follow the directions Shane had left for him.
It wasn’t a long walk. There was a slight trail that led the way and before he knew it, Van stepped out of the trees and into a clearing—a bend in the lake in front of him—Shane there, sitting in a chair, with his back to Van.
“I didn’t bring you a chair,” Shane said without looking. Van wasn’t sure why but his lips pulled into a smile.
“I deserve that,” he replied before taking a step, then another toward Shane.
He shrugged. “Wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“Me either.”
“Wasn’t sure I wanted you to.”
Van stopped beside him, but didn’t look down, just kept his eyes trained forward on all the gorgeous green of the trees and the quiet lake tucked between them. “And you are now?” he asked. “Sure if you wanted me to come or not?”
“Nope,” Shane answered and Van appreciated his honesty.
“Can’t say I blame you.” He didn’t blame Shane at all. “I’m sorr—”
“Don’t. Don’t do that,” Shane cut him off. “I don’t need or want your apology. That’s not why I left the note.”
Shane’s words didn’t surprise him. What the fuck good would I’m sorry do, anyway? It couldn’t change the past. It couldn’t change the way they’d treated Shane.
He fingered the charm on the black rope chain around his neck before tucking it into his shirt. “I know it’s not why you left the note. It’s still something I need to say though.”
“No offense, but fuck what you need,” Shane replied and then for the first time he looked up at Van. He saw the movement from the corner of his eye, looked down and Jesus, it hit him again how the man next to him looked like a completely different person from the boy he’d known. He was harder in some ways, yet seemed softer in others. More confident. Happier. Maybe not in that moment, but Van knew it was true. He’d heard it in Shane’s laughter at Lucky Rose. In the way he’d spoken to everyone before he saw Van.
“Fair enough,” Van replied. He could apologize to Shane anyway, but he also figured he owed Shane that moment. He owed him more than that, and he knew it.
Van kneeled, then sat in the dirt beside Shane’s chair. He wrapped his arms around his knees and waited to hear what Shane needed to tell him.
“You sure you don’t mind sitting out here with a faggot?” There was a sharp sting to Shane’s words that made Van wince. It had been one of his father’s favorite words. One he’d hurled at Van as though it was the worst thing he could be. And he’d done that without knowing Van’s secret. Hell, Van wasn’t sure he’d known it himself back then. He would have been too afraid to admit it.
And he’d said the same thing to Shane. He’d thrown the same word at Shane, projecting his own fear at Shane. Because back then, he hadn’t really known if Shane was gay or not. Either way, it didn’t make using the word okay, but now it felt worse….
He looked over at Shane, who still watched him, something different in his eyes, as though he was surprised that Van sat in the dirt beside him. Surprised Van hadn’t made a comment at his admission, maybe?
“You’re doing the same,” Van told him. “Though, I don’t use that word anymore.”
“What do you mean?” Shane’s brows pulled together. Van could see the confusion spelled out in the wrinkles his admission caused on Shane’s forehead.
“I mean I’m gay.” Which again, made him feel even worse for what he’d done.
Shane inhaled a breath, shaking his head. He moved his fishing pole from one hand to another. “I don’t know what to say to that…not with our past. I owe you a thank you for yesterday though…for sitting with her. I….”
“You don’t have to thank me,” Van replied. “I enjoyed her company.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t handle me with kid gloves, complimenting the fucked-up, quiet kid. I don’t need that shit from you. That’s not who I am anymore.”
“Is that ever who you were?” Van asked, then continued. “That’s not what I’m doing. You don’t know me, Shane. Maybe you think you do, but you don’t. Don’t assume you know how I feel or don’t feel. She is kind…and proud as hell of you. She talked about you the way a mother is supposed to talk about her son.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Shane asked.
“Exactly what I said.” Maybe he shouldn’t have been acting that way, but Van couldn’t help it. He sighed, shook his head, and added, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be an asshole. I’m not even sure why I am. I meant what I said though. It wasn’t a problem. I’m glad I was there and it was nice talking to her. If you don’t want me to apologize for our past, I sure as shit don’t want you to thank me for yesterday. I don’t need thanks for that.”
“She’s the most important person in my life. I can’t let what you did go without making sure you know what it meant to me.”
And that was why they were there. Why Shane had reached out. Christ, the man was loyal. He always had been. He’d known it when they were kids, the way Shane had always defended his mom and he knew it now.
They locked eyes again and Van noticed the flecks of gold in his light brown irises. They were a unique color; one he wanted to paint but wasn’t sure he could get it right.
They were filled with questions and he figured Shane saw questions in his gaze too. They stared at each other for a moment before Shane asked, “That time, outside my house. When I caught you and Jonathan spray-painting. You said he’d kill you. Who were you talking about?”
When he was younger, he would have protected that truth above anything else, but in that moment, back in his hometown looking
at the boy who was his biggest regret, Van opened his mouth, and answered honestly, “My father.”
He saw Shane tense up. Saw the doubt…then the shock.
“I don’t want your pity,” Van told him. “I got over it a long time ago.”
He was surprised when Shane chuckled. Van didn’t ask why. He figured he knew, anyway. Shane felt the same about him. He didn’t want Van’s pity over the way Shane had been treated when they were younger. They were the same that way. That didn’t mean Van didn’t feel as though he still owed him an apology.
They were quiet for a few moments, before Shane said, “Hold my rod, real quick. I need to take a piss.”
Van glanced his way. “We know each other well enough for me to hold your dick while you piss?” Nervousness filled him, wondering if the joke was too much, too soon.
Shane shook his head but Van could have sworn he saw a small smile tease his lips, which he considered a small victory. He didn’t reply though, just handed his fishing pole over to Van who took it, and then he watched Shane slip through the trees and disappear.
When he came back, Van would thank him and then leave him alone.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Shane’s head was fucking spinning. The kid he hated more than anyone else had grown up to be a gay artist who’d had an abusive father that Shane had never known about? It didn’t make sense. He’d always envied Maxwell with his perfect fucking life. Had he really been afraid of his father or was it an exaggeration?
But Shane remembered the fear in Max’s eyes. “Please…he’ll kill me….”
“My father….”
A million questions bombarded Shane’s brain. About Maxwell. Their past. His mom saying she saw herself in Max, and how Shane had sometimes thought he’d seen loneliness in him too. About what the fuck Max was doing there now.