by Lisa Henry
“Yeah.” Caleb reached out and tugged a button on John’s shirt. “I kind of figured that when you didn’t get off the other night. Like, um…”
John might not have gotten off when Caleb was still there, but he’d sure as hell made up for it when he’d left. “Like?” he prompted.
“Like I thought you’d want to have sex. Proper sex. With me.” Caleb’s throat bobbed when he swallowed. “And I want to, even if I’ve never, um, had anything inside me like that.”
“You think you’ve got this figured out?” John asked him.
Caleb blushed. “Just…you know.”
God. John loved the way a blush could light up a white boy’s face like that.
“You think because I’m the bigger guy, the older guy, that I’m the top?”
Caleb shrugged.
“You think sex means penetration?”
This time Caleb squirmed.
“Let me tell you something,” John said. He waited until Caleb raised his gaze. “What we did the other night was sex. Sex doesn’t have to mean penetration. A lot of guys don’t even like anal.”
Caleb was as red as a beetroot. “Really?”
“Sure. Maybe you would, and maybe you wouldn’t. But there are heaps of things we can try before we even get to that. If we even get to that. It’s not a checklist, mate. You don’t have to cross off every item.” He raised his eyebrows. “And, just so you know, I’m versatile. So don’t assume, even if we do get there, that you’ll be on the bottom.”
Caleb’s jaw dropped. “You would let me…?”
John leaned down and brushed their mouths together. He could feel the heat radiating from Caleb’s face. “Yes.”
Caleb shuddered out a breath, his arms coming up around John’s neck. He laughed, and his breath was warm against John’s jaw. “Okay, yes, talking about these things is super important, and I get that, but can we be done with this conversation for now? Please?”
John took pity on his embarrassment. “Yeah, we can be done for now.”
Caleb drew a breath, as though he was steeling himself. “But not for good.”
“But not for good,” John agreed.
Caleb stepped away from him, his mouth quirking, and headed for the kitchen. “You want a drink?”
“Yeah,” John said, following him. “I’d kill for a cold drink right about now.”
They were sitting on the back veranda, open cans of soft drink beaded with condensation, when Darren arrived home with fish and chips.
John figured he was almost at the Gold Coast anyway, so why not keep going? He pulled up at the beachfront at Southport, took his shoes and socks off, and walked down to the water. He sat in the sand, his heels digging in, and watched the water for a while.
Shit.
This was a mess.
Being with Caleb felt so right—John loved him, and there wasn’t a shadow of doubt in his mind about that—but there was so much that could go wrong, and not having Darren in the loop felt a little too much like deception.
John gripped a shell and tossed it toward the water.
No, it was fucking deception, no two ways about it.
Tonight Darren had mentioned the expo in Melbourne, and John had agreed to take a few days of leave so that Caleb wouldn’t be alone in the house, and Darren’s assumption that John was Caleb’s friend and nothing more was no longer true. They were supposed to be a team, the three of them, all of them on the same page when it came to Caleb’s mental health, and now John and Caleb had skipped a few chapters ahead, hadn’t they? Or they were reading from an entirely different fucking book, and that was unfair to Darren.
But also, Caleb was right. He had a right to his own agency. Why shouldn’t he be trusted to navigate something on his own for once, if he wanted to do it? How would they ever know he could, if they never let him try?
“Because he’s not on his own, you arsehole,” John muttered to the ocean. He dug his fingers down into the grains of sand. “You’re a part of it, and you’re helping him hide it.”
But that was what Caleb said he wanted, and John couldn’t betray that.
The smartest thing to do would have been to not get involved with Caleb before telling Darren, but, well, the stable doors were flapping open in the wind now, weren’t they? And the horses were long fucking gone.
All John could do at this point was hope that Darren wouldn’t punch him in the face when he found out, even though a part of him knew he deserved it.
He lifted his hand and let the sand trickle through his fingers.
Only time would tell.
Tuesday morning was a replay of Monday. John and Liz grabbed coffee, and then went and chased up a bunch of potential witnesses to the weekend’s drug overdoses. Chased them up at school, got their details, and then phoned their parents to come and meet them now while they talked to them, or arrange a time to bring them to the station. John thought of Jessie while he listened to each kid stumble through their retelling of the weekend’s events: silly kids doing silly things, just the way they had since the beginning of time.
He remembered the saying his dad used: E le fono pa’a mona vae. The crab didn’t consult with its legs that they should pinch; they did it of themselves. Just like too often teenagers would be teenagers, and never stop to ask their parents if something was a good idea or not. And sometimes—most times—it didn’t matter and they grew up just fine anyway, but there was still a kid in hospital on life support for the decision she’d made on the weekend to try a pill.
“I think I used to smoke behind that building,” John said as he and Liz left Woodridge State High School in the early afternoon.
“You smoked?” Liz laughed. “And here I thought you were a choir boy!”
“Total bad seed,” John lied. “A rebel. Dangerous and mysterious.”
Liz’s smile grew.
In the car on their way back to the station John went over his notes while Liz drove.
“I mean, all these overdoses probably do come from the same bad batch, but it’s not the dealers,” John said. “These Woodridge kids aren’t hanging at the same parties as the Grammar kids. It’s got to be the supplier.”
“I think so too,” Liz said. “Which means we’ll see more this weekend, if not before. And it’ll hit the club circuit next, which means adult victims, which means we can kick it back to the drug squad since they get all pissy and start bitching that we’re stepping on their toes if we try to look any higher than street level dealers anyway.”
“Should never have been ours in the first place,” John muttered.
“Preach.” Liz slowed and braked for a red light. “So apparently I’m partnered up with Aaron on my night work next week.”
“Yeah,” John said. “I’m taking the week off. The boss approved it.”
“Aaron, John,” Liz said. “Aaron. I don’t have seven night’s worth of conversation about protein shakes and burpees in me.”
John snorted.
“All I’m saying is you’d better have a bloody good excuse.”
John kept his eyes on the road. “Darren’s got some expo thing in Melbourne, so I’m staying with Caleb.”
“Huh.”
John looked at her. “What does ‘huh’ mean?”
“It just means ‘huh’.”
“Bullshit it does.” John knocked his head back against the headrest. “Okay, so hypothetically, what would you say if me and Caleb were involved?”
“I’d say don’t beat around the bush,” Liz said frankly. “You’re been involved since the day you met him. To be less involved you’d need to go see one of those doctors who specialises in separating conjoined twins. Do you mean that you’re in a romantic relationship?” She rolled her eyes at his expression. “‘Hypothetically’.”
The driver behind them laid on the horn.
“Shit,” Liz said, and accelerated through the green light.
“Yeah,” John said. “I mean a romantic relationship.”
“It’s
not a good look, is it?” Liz asked softly. “To be in a relationship with someone you met in a professional capacity when they were a child victim?”
John shifted in his seat. “That was eight years ago.”
“I know,” Liz said. “And I know you, which is why I’m on your side here. I’m just telling you it’s the sort of thing that might come back and bite you in the arse at some point, probably a few years down the track when some fucker backstabs you to get the promotion you want. Which is why I want you to tell me now, hypothetical bullshit aside, if you and Caleb are in a romantic relationship.”
“We are.”
“Okay,” Liz said. “Then that’s officially disclosed and noted, but you will tell the boss as well, understood? Because I mean it, John, it’s the sort of thing that can come back and bite you. Because Caleb isn’t your complainant anymore, but you were still in a position of authority over him at one point.”
John nodded, a little queasy at the thought of having that particular conversation with their supervising inspector.
“Good.” Her expression softened. “The boss thinks the sun shines out of your arse. You’ll be fine. And now for the real messy part; do you know what you’re getting into here, John?”
“No,” John said. “I have no fucking idea, and I’m so scared I’m gonna mess it up and hurt him.”
Liz reached out and squeezed his arm quickly. “Or maybe you won’t.”
“That’s a lot riding on ‘maybe’,” John said.
“There usually is when it comes to relationships,” Liz said. “Look, I won’t pretend that this is all sunshine and rainbows and puppies, but you’ve been in Caleb’s corner since the day I met you. You clearly love him and he loves you, and more than that he trusts you. And that puts you on an incredibly short list of people. He made the first move, right?”
Heat rose in John’s face. “Yeah.”
“Of course.” Liz shrugged. “Because you wouldn’t have. I mean, I don’t know, John, but doesn’t Caleb deserve a win for once? Is it possible you’re overthinking this?”
“Not with Caleb. There’s so much that can go wrong.”
“There’s a lot that can go right too.” Liz flicked on the indicator as they turned off Kingston Road. “Look, he can’t live in a bubble forever. He can’t be expected to not want the things that other people get to have, like a partner, and sex, and a relationship. Isn’t it better that he tries those things with you, someone he trusts, than with some random dickhead he picks up on a night out? Because you know how that ended last time.”
“Maybe,” John said. “Or maybe that would make it even worse if it doesn’t work out.”
“I mean…” Liz sighed heavily. “At some point you have to try, right? And since you’re already together, you’ve already passed that point. Whatever happens will happen, and you can’t control that, you can only do your best. And for what it’s worth, your best and Caleb’s best together? I think you guys might just do okay.”
John swallowed. “I hope so.”
“But anything else,” Liz said, “you’re just thinking around in circles, and that won’t do anyone any good. You’re already doing this thing, John. Maybe you could actually try enjoying it while you’re at it.”
John shook his head, a corner of his mouth tugging up in a rueful smile. “Caleb said something like that. He said he wanted a chance to enjoy it.”
“Sounds like smart thinking to me,” Liz said, and flashed him a smile. “Cheeseburgers for lunch?”
“I don’t know,” John said slowly as though he was mulling over the question. “What will your new bestie Aaron say about that?”
“Arsehole.” Liz glared at him as they headed for the nearest Macca’s.
Chapter Ten
The construction site just off Cavill Avenue was cordoned off from the street, but a workman showed John and Brian through to the office. The office was a repurposed shipping container, with a rattling, dripping air conditioning unit attached to the outside. The worker banged on the door.
“Boss? Coppers are asking for you.”
The man who wrenched the door open was almost a dead ringer for the kid who called himself Caleb Gray, except with a good thirty years on him. He was tall and must have been thin once, though now a small beer belly pressed against the buttons of his shirt. He was tanned, unlike Caleb, and he had deep lines that fanned out from the corners of his dark eyes.
“Darren Fletcher?” Brian asked.
The arm of a crane swung overhead. Tinny pop music blasted from someone’s radio. The beep-beep-beep of a reversing forklift cut through the song.
“Yeah. What’s this about?”
“Senior Sergeant Brian Keller,” Brian said, and nodded at John. “Constable John Faimu. We’re with the Logan CPIU. Can we come in, please?”
The colour drained from Darren Fletcher’s face. He jerked his chin in a nod, and then stepped back to let them enter.
The office was cluttered. It was full of paperwork and blueprints and shelves overflowing with the detritus of Darren Fletcher’s job.
“Is this about Jason?” he asked, dragging a shaking hand through his hair.
John thought of the kid in the hospital bed who was still calling himself Caleb Gray.
“It is,” Brian said. “We think we’ve found him. We’ll need to do a DNA swab to confirm, but we’re pretty sure it’s him. He’s alive, Mr. Fletcher.”
“Alive.” The word shuddered out of the man like he didn’t believe it. He rubbed a hand over his face. When he took it away, his cheeks were wet. “Jesus. Where…where is he?”
“In hospital,” Brian said. “Darren, when we found him, it wasn’t good. He’s got some fairly serious injuries, but the doctors say he’ll recover.”
“Injuries from what?”
“From the people he was with,” Brian said.
“When can I see him?”
“Let’s get that swab done first,” Brian said. “And if we can confirm he’s your son, then we’ll figure out when he’s ready to see you, okay?”
Darren Fletcher’s face twisted. “It’s been ten fucking years.”
“Yeah,” Brian said. “And I’m asking you to wait a few more days. Can you do that for me, Darren?”
John watched a hundred different emotions battle over the man’s face before he finally nodded, his shoulders slumping.
“Yeah. I can do that.”
“Thanks for doing this, John,” Darren said, lugging his suitcase down the front steps. “I really appreciate it.”
“It’s no problem,” John said, and felt like the biggest arsehole in the world.
Caleb’s smile, both shy and mischievous, was a hell of a fucking balm though. They waved Darren off while Cricket raced up and down the fence line excitedly.
Four days of Caleb, while Darren was in Melbourne listening to speakers talk about sustainable development in the commercial construction industry. John knew who was getting the better deal, no question, though he knew Darren would appreciate the break. It wasn’t often he got the chance to be off duty when it came to Caleb, and John hoped he’d make the most of it. Visions of boozy middle-aged blokes in polo shirts and lanyards danced through his mind, and he smiled. Yeah, Darren deserved to cut loose and have some fun for once.
“Hey, do you want to get pizza tonight?” Caleb asked as they headed around the side of the house to the back yard to throw a tennis ball for Cricket.
“I’m pretty sick of fast food,” John said. “Why don’t we cook something?”
Caleb wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know what we’ve got.”
“We’ll find something,” John assured him.
It was nice, cooking dinner with Caleb, even though dinner turned out to be tinned spaghetti on toast. John heated up the spaghetti on the stovetop, and Caleb made the toast.
“You know pizza would have been a better idea, right?” Caleb teased as he moved around John to grab the butter from the fridge.
“There’s
nothing wrong with spaghetti on toast,” John told me. “Me and Mary and David used to make this every time my parents went out for the night. Mostly because it was the only thing we could cook.”
Caleb scraped butter over the toast. “It’s barely cooking. It’s using the toaster, and heating.”
“That’s the beauty of it.” John nudged him with his shoulder. “Anyway, tomorrow we’ll go grab some groceries, and actually branch out into proper meals.”
“Pizza is a proper meal.”
“Blasphemer,” John said with a laugh that died in his throat the moment he realised. He froze.
Caleb was still too, staring down at the butter-smeared toast on the plate in front of him. And then his hand shook and the knife rattled against the edge of the plate, beating out a rapid, discordant tattoo. Caleb’s hand clenched around the handle, his knuckles white.
“Caleb?” John’s heart raced. “Shit, Caleb, I’m sorry.”
Caleb set the knife down, and turned his head. “It’s okay. It’s just a word. Just a dumb word.” He swallowed. “I know it doesn’t mean anything.”
“I’m sorry,” John repeated, because he knew that certain words cut Caleb deep, and that it was Ethan Gray’s voice he heard them spoken in, even after all these years. The word was meaningless, but the monster who’d once screamed it at a terrified boy was still very real.
“John.” Caleb shifted so that their bodies lined up flush, and placed his hands on John’s chest. “Remember how I said I’m not a kid?”
John nodded, his throat aching.
“I’m not a kid, and I’m specifically not that kid either,” Caleb said. “That terrified, broken fifteen-year-old kid you found that day. I’ve been working really hard to not be him anymore. And yeah, my brain is a fucking mess with the shit it throws up at me all the time, but when that happens, that’s not your fault. And I know it’s not mine either. It’s just like…” He shrugged and shook his head. “It’s just like the weather. You pack an umbrella and hope you don’t need it, you know? But the rain’s going to happen, whatever you do.”