But he knows anyway. Probably from that day playing PlayStation in my room. I’m sure I had T-shirts and stuff lying around. I never thought he’d paid attention.
“Are you going?” My interest now peaked.
“Mom had me work this past year. She thinks I should go to community college. Live with her. Someday, she says we could get a duplex and I could live on one side, she on the other if we thought I should try living on my own.”
“Jesus, you’re a grown-ass man. I know she loves you. I know she devoted her life to you. But Rid, she has to let you grow up.”
“That’s why I’m telling you. Will you help me?”
“Help you move closer to me? I think I can do that. Anything you need. When… um, when did you apply?”
He drops his temple to rest against my ear as he slides his hand in mine.
“Before I knew you. My cousin Jordan goes there. We helped her move into the dorms. We never lived close, but growing up she was the only one who treated me normal. I’m not stupid.”
“I know you’re not Rid. You’re one of the smartest people I know.”
This gets me a hand squeeze.
“She showed me around campus. Took me to visit the student disabilities center. Jordan said if she got accepted then she knew I would. And she’d be there to hang out so I wasn’t alone starting out.”
“You won’t be alone, not with me there. But I’d like to meet your cousin. I like her already. So… what do you need from me?”
“Help me fill out some financial aid forms. Mom doesn’t know, but I got scholarships for my GPA and for my condition.”
His condition? “Ridley, you’re autistic. It’s not a condition.”
“It’s what they called it. What Mom calls it.”
Of course, she does. A condition would require her to be up in his business for the rest of his life. Rid’s so high functioning, he could have a real life if she cut those apron strings and allowed him to be a man.
“I don’t want to hear you call it a condition again,” I say.
His hands.
Open.
Close.
Uh-uh.
“Stop Rid, I’m not mad at you. I just don’t want you thinking there’s something wrong with being autistic. You wear it proudly.”
June
Chapter Four
We’re hanging out front of Ridley’s game when the confrontation finally happens. I have the heavy sledgehammer gripped with my hands spread wide, one by the black, rubber head and one lower to control the swing. I bring it up and slam the hammer down on the large square pressure plate. Small red lightbulbs light up all the way to the top and the bell dings. A flasher goes off at the top to attract attention. It used to have a buzzer too, but Ridley couldn’t handle the loud, blasting buzzer so they disabled it.
“So you’re a gay boy now, eh?” He calls out loudly to the background laughter and ribbing of his buddies, my former teammates.
Gabe Cera.
Once they claimed to be my friends, now they’re laughing at me. And it clearly isn’t news to Gabe. Maybe they wouldn’t be laughing if they knew who I’d been a “gay boy” with.
Actually, it surprises me he’s taken this long.
My attention splits between Gabe and his loud mouth, and his girlfriend walking toward us, carrying a large soda cup in her hand. She has this exotic mix of chestnut hair and almond shaped eyes, a petit thing—showing off her body in a tight gray tank and the shortest blue jean shorts known to man—who happens to be best friends with my ex-girlfriend. I never told Amanda. If she hears, she deserves to hear it from me.
“Keep your voice down, Gabe.”
He thinks he hides it, that look. The one which flashes across his face, but he tamps it down almost as soon as it flashes. The one saying he wishes he could be me. Even more, the look says he remembers everything we’d done together out on the jetty, and how it felt for once in our lives not to have to lie. I know that look well. It’s the very same look I’d given when I saw some other dudes out living their lives. Living their lives with the people they wanted to live their lives with.
“What? You ashamed, gay boy?”
No. I’m not ashamed. Especially not now. Not since my talk with my mom and the way my family accepted Ridley into the fold.
How could anyone be ashamed to be with someone as special as Rid?
“No,” I answer right away. “It’s just no one else’s business.” No one else would be code for his girlfriend and Mr. Trucker, Rid’s boss who’s been a real creeper since I started hanging around. Probably with orders to report back to Rid’s mom of his activities because she refuses to let him grow up. And Trucker wants desperately into Ms. McAllister’s pants, so he’ll do it.
She still blames his attraction to men on his autism. And I’m not sure we’ll ever convince her otherwise, so we decided to play up the best friend angle until he moves away. It isn’t exactly a lie. Yes, he’s my boyfriend now. But he’s been my best friend since I got home from school. What, I guess, a boyfriend should be.
We don’t want her keeping us apart.
She’d try to keep us apart.
“That desperate?” Gabe goes on, either ignoring or too stupid to pick up on our ignoring him. “Gotta play with the retards. Is that even legal?”
That word, I see red. Legit red, and jump from the spot I’ve been leaning on the handle of the sledgehammer and lunge for Gabe, grabbing a fistful of his shirt.
Not expecting my reaction, he tenses. I draw my fist back ready to slam it in his jaw when I feel a hand wrap around my elbow.
“No,” Ridley says to me. “He’s not worth it.” Then turning to Gabe he says, “I’m autistic, not retarded. And the fact you’d use that word to begin with shows everyone how backward and ignorant you actually are. Go.” He orders. “Leave or I’ll have security remove you from the park.”
Oh. My. God.
Gabe shouts out a few more expletives as Caitlin, his girlfriend, finally reaches us dragging him away. But I don’t have it in me to pay attention to Gabe Cera. Not when Ridley McAllister just stood up to him.
“That was so hot, Rid.”
The sexy, ‘I’m proud of myself’ smirk—a brand new addition to the smile repertoire—spreads across his lips. Beautiful lips.
“I want to kiss you so badly right now,” I whisper.
“Later,” he promises. A promise I intend to make him keep. One thing I’ve learned with my time with Rid, when he puts his mind to something, he excels. Whether to prove to himself or to others that he’s just as capable, he excels.
The day drags on. Sweltering heat threatening to cause heat stroke, even with the breeze blowing off the ocean. Rid lifts up the hem of his T-shirt to wipe down his brow. That’s my doing. Tees instead of Polos his mother forced on him.
Rid’s not a Polo guy. He’s not quite cut off skinny jeans and purple hair, but the more time we spend together the more he’s come into himself.
“What are you staring at?” he asks. Caught. I’ve been totally caught.
“Your chest,” I admit, honestly. “It’s incredibly sexy.”
“Glad you think so.”
Changing the subject because thoughts of Ridley’s bare chest does things to me which should not be witnessed by innocent carnival goers, I ask, “You want a drink?”
He understands. One of the best things about being with the man, he understands me in a way no one else ever has. “Sure,” he answers, letting me off the hook.
I leave Rid to do his job while I hunt us down some cold beverages. He doesn’t really care for soda too much, but all the places that sell bottled water are sold out.
So soda it has to be.
As I walk back toward him, sipping my Coke through the straw, I cough, choking on my drink because of who I see leaning against Ridley’s game. What’s he doing there?
A freaking sneak attack on Ridley. I could kill him, standing with his hands shoved in his pockets trying to look docile. Like
someone just up for a chat. Rid looks to be handling himself okay, not freaked or anything. But damn, after what he said to Rid earlier. I’m pulling up strength reserves I didn’t know I had to keep from charging him and tearing his head clean off his body.
Damn, Gabe Cera.
Alone this time.
Jesus, why can’t he leave us alone?
“What the hell are you doing back?” I spit out. Both heads spin my way. “Here.” I hand the drink off to Ridley.
“It’s cool Fraser,” Gabe says to me. No. Nothing is cool about him being anywhere near Ridley. And when you’ve seen someone naked, the way Gabe and I have seen each other naked, you’d think you’d be beyond the last name thing.
“Rid, you okay?”
He nods.
“He was just apologizing,” Ridley says to me. His head dipped low. See me Rid, you’re not in trouble. “He was just apologizing,” Rid says again.
Really?
What happened to ‘leave or I’ll have security remove you from the park’?
I’ve known him for years and one thing I know about Gabe Cera, he does not apologize. Ever.
“I was out of line.” Gabe shrugs. Shrugs. As if calling someone a retard could ever be okay because he said he was out of line. As if I’m the one overreacting here. It’s no big deal, right?
“What’s your play?” I ask, not trusting him as far as I could throw him, and I’m not sure I could even lift him off the ground.
“No play. I’m not a bad guy, Frazer. You know me.”
“Yeah…I do.”
No doubt Gabe is hot, in that cocky bastard sort of way. He has nothing on my boyfriend, of course.
Nothing.
As I continue to stare down Gabe, not talking, he takes the obvious hint and finally leaves us.
“You okay?” I ask Rid again.
“Yeah. He was fine.”
“I don’t want you talking to Gabe without me. You can’t trust him.”
“Leif, I think you’re spending too much time around my mom. I’m a grown man. Just like I tell her.”
Whoa. Long way away from the guy I first met while he was having a meltdown.
“Fair enough. I’ll leave you to it.” I give him a playful shove, careful not to spill his drink. “But you need me, you call me.”
At that moment his phone rings.
Not only do I see her name across the caller I.D. but can hear her loud, yet contradictory cooing voice asking him how his day is going. Then, “What time are you off, Rid? I thought we’d have dinner together.” Her voice comes that loud through the receiver.
“Leif is here. We’re grabbing food when I’m done.”
“Sweetheart, it’s nice you’ve found a friend but don’t you think you’re spending a little too much time together?”
A friend? I shake my head.
I know we’ve played it up, this best friend angle, but shit. You’d think she’d figure it out by now.
“I was talking with Amy Rigby this afternoon,” she continues on, completely oblivious to Ridley’s growing mood.
“T-that’s nice mom.”
“I…uh…well John says maybe I should lift your dating restrictions. So I invited her over for pizza.”
“Mom.” He begins opening and closing the one hand not holding the phone into a fist at his side.
Open.
Close.
Open.
Close.
Rid’s getting agitated.
“Her mom will be here, too. Amy’s moving into an independent living house. Isn’t that nice?”
Open.
Close.
Open.
Close.
“Rid. Hang up the phone,” I order him because I don’t want him to end up as fodder for the gawkers again.
A head nod.
“Mom. I have to go.” And he clicks off without waiting for her to stall him or sign off.
Open.
“She wants me to have dinner with Amy Rigby.”
Close.
“I know. You’re mom’s a loud talker.”
Once again he communicates with a smirk.
“Babe, you gonna go?” I ask, reaching my hand down to brush lightly up and down his arm in an attempt to calm him. It starts to work. Thankfully, meltdown avoided. Then I remember where we are and pull my hand back. When I do he looks like he’d just realized where we are too. If we’re going to keep up our charade, we need to be more diligent out in public.
“I… I don’t know what to do.”
Open.
“Go home. Have dinner with your mom. But if you kiss Amy Rigby, I’ll be pissed.”
Close.
Open.
Close.
Open.
He avoids even finding a focus spot on my face. He hasn’t avoided my face in quite some time.
“Hey…hey, Rid. Your eyes.” He gives them, but not full-on, only out of the corners of his. “I was kidding. I’m not worried about you kissing Amy.”
“I’m only kissing you, Leif.”
Damn if that doesn’t make me feel good hearing it even if I already know it to be true.
“Besides, I want you to come with me.”
Ridley wants me to come with him to have dinner with his mother and the girl she’s trying to set him up with.
“Okay. She’ll hate it, but I’ll be there.”
***
At the end of his shift, Rid and I close up his game, making our way to the staff trailer for him to check out.
After the few minutes he takes to literally clock out and say goodnight to a couple coworkers, he joins me. We walk close enough side by side that our hands brush and on instinct, I grab his up in mine, but like earlier remember our no touching rule and drop it right away. Good thing as that asshat Mr. Trucker blocks our exit.
“Ridley. Your mother called. She wants to make sure you get right home.” On that last, he turns his beady glare to me. “I told her I’d be happy to take you home.”
“No way.” Comes out of my mouth the same moment Ridley protests with a “No” of his own.
“I’m sorry. You have nothing to do with this son. This is between his mother and me.”
“I’m not your son and Rid’s almost twenty. He doesn’t need his boss dropping him off like he’s fourteen.”
The more I’m around these people the harder I find it to tamp down the attitude.
Rid sees me and knows I’m about ready to blow. And that’s when he places his hand on my biceps, not looking to the asshat Trucker like the touch of a boyfriend, but that of a good friend keeping his boy from doing something stupid.
Only Rid and I know his touch holds so much more meaning and I’m getting pretty damn tired of having to pretend it doesn’t. I didn’t take the risk of coming out to my family last year to have to hide my feelings for the best man I’ve ever met. Especially when he came out to his mother years ago.
I know I agreed to it.
I know it’s for the best for now.
But I also know the best for now sucks.
My boyfriend nods his head to acknowledge he sees I’ve checked myself, then communicates in smile. And his smile communicates so much. I’m going to kiss the shit out of Ridley when we’re alone.
“Thank you for the offer, Mr. Trucker. But Leif has to take me because he’s teaching me to drive.”
My eyes bug and Asshat Trucker responds with a just as astonished, “He is?”
Rid nods again. “Mom’s too nervous to do it.”
“Well, I’d be happy—”
“No. Thank you.” Ridley cuts him off. “You have a nice car. If something happened, I’d feel really bad.”
Well played.
As the asshat opens his mouth to spew some more of his asshattedness, I take the opportunity to dangle my keys in the air next to Rid’s face, to which he grabs them and starts walking toward the street parking where I always park my car, throwing a polite, “Thank you. Goodnight,” Over his shoulder to smooth things over
with the asshat.
Yeah, I see a heavy make out session at the jetty in our immediate future.
When we’re just about at my car, he tries to hand the keys back.
“Uh no. You told him I’m teaching you how to drive. So I’m teaching you how to drive.”
“I just said that to get him off my case.”
“You want to have to rely on other people all your life?”
That gets him.
He unlocks the doors and climbs in behind the wheel while I walk over to climb into the passenger side.
“What do you know, what should we go over?”
Without answering, he buckles his seatbelt, adjusts the seat and steering wheel to comfortable positions, readjusts the rearview and side mirrors, and then shoves the key in the ignition and turns, starting my car.
I can see him mentally checking items off an imaginary list. His eyes move back and forth scanning, even though what he scans remains in his head.
“I put on the blinker.” And he clicks the left blinker on. “Check my blind spot.” Which he does, looking over his shoulder to check for cars. “It’s clear,” he says. “Now I put the car in gear and ease out onto the road.”
I have to bite back a laugh.
God, he’s so cute.
The speed limit on the street running along the boardwalk is forty miles per hour. Rid never takes the speed above twenty-five with periodic stomping on the breaks anytime a car pulls onto the road out of a store parking lot or merges from the metered parking, forcing the cars behind him to slam on their breaks while laying on their horns and speeding around our car. Most of them flipping him the bird as they pass.
Autistics and stress, not a good combination.
Rid starts shutting down in front of my eyes. Hands gripping and twisting around the steering wheel, white knuckle tight. Shallow, harsh breaths. And he looks about one more horn honk from total meltdown.
“Pull over Rid… Babe, pull over.”
It’s as if he doesn’t even hear me.
Calm. Forceful.
“Ridley.” I bark. Firm. Not yelling. That gets his attention finally. “Pull over.”
He nods and whispers, “blinker.” Then clicks on the right blinker, gliding into a metered parking space.
Summer of the Boy Page 4