by Jen Davis
“You said she hated you.” Robby’s eyes narrowed. “That was not hate I saw. The woman looked like she wanted to have you for dinner.”
“Yeah.” He shifted in his seat. “Well, I’m not on the menu. At least not for her, which is the problem we keep coming back to.”
“But you—” The lilt of a question lingered in the air. “Never mind.”
“It’s cool. We’re friends, Rob. You can ask me anything.”
Robby’s flinch at the word friends was almost imperceptible. Almost. He pasted on a smile neither one of them could even pretend was genuine. “Thanks for the ride home, man. I’m obviously not myself. I think I need to grab some sleep.”
Matt wanted to ask about the drugs. About whether Robby would be okay here alone. But in the end, he did neither. “Sure. My mom’s watching Jimmy for me, so I’d better get going. But call me if you need me, okay?”
Robby turned to face the back of the sofa and curled his body around the pillow.
He didn’t even say goodbye.
***
Robby
Robby kept his eyes squeezed shut until the quiet snick of the door announced Matt’s departure. What was wrong with him? Matt didn’t owe him any answers or explanations. They were friends, the kiss notwithstanding.
Whatever. His awkward exchange with Matt wasn’t even the worst part of this crapfest of a night.
He dragged himself off the couch and stumbled into the kitchen. A bottle of vodka lay on its side in the freezer. It was always there, just in case. He guzzled it without bothering to pour it in a glass first.
Shards of ice shot through his brain, but he drank until he emptied the bottle. Oblivion was the goal, but he’d take pain over the thoughts crowding his head, a thousand times over.
The scene at Nitro had thrown him into a tailspin even worse than the last time he went there. Why the hell had he gone back?
Because when someone hurts you, you always hurt yourself more. Cancel out one pain by introducing another. And numb yourself as much as you can.
He certainly wasn’t thinking about Matt and what’s-her-name while he was kicking back lemon drops. Then, in the back room—
His heart kicked into high gear, fluttering like the frenzied wings of a hummingbird, as the image of the dead-eyed boy strong-armed into his brain. The memory of his own past drenched over it like hot tar.
A hand at his throat, blocking his air.
Pressure on his collarbone so heavy he thought it would crack.
The sea of faces. The laughter. The cheering.
Makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstop.
He stumbled into his bedroom, tearing open the nightstand drawer. The razorblade gleamed, a promise to release him from the grip of his memories, to replace the pain in his heart with the cold sting of a clean, swift swipe.
But he’d promised himself—he’d sworn—he wouldn’t go back. He could lie to the world, but he’d be damned if he lied to himself.
Clenching his teeth, he slammed the drawer closed. The past would stay in the past.
He’d come too far in the five years since he’d left his old life behind to turn back now. Living through that nightmare didn’t break him then, and the memories would not break him now.
Chapter TWELVE
Robby
The next morning, Robby sipped his McDonald’s mocha, trying to ignore his nerves as he looked up at the Q-Center. He needed to get his mind off of what happened the night before, and he’d meant what he’d said to Sara about wanting to see inside the place. Maybe help some of the young people struggling with their identity or in need of acceptance.
Hell.
What was he thinking coming here? He was hardly someone who could hold himself up as an example to other people. Especially any younger than himself. Only a hypocrite of epic proportions could put himself out there with a past like his.
Tightening his hand on the cup, he gritted his teeth and turned back toward the car. He made it three steps before a familiar voice called out his name.
“Robby,” Sara called out, “you gonna come in, doll, or just stand there, prettying up the sidewalk?”
Busted. Shrugging, with an aw-shucks grin, he followed her inside. A handful of sofas, a TV, and a large throw rug dominated the right side of the room, while three office-style cubicles lined the left. Two tower-style computers with monitors were set up in open stations beside them.
A few steps further in, he stopped beside a scuffed and scarred wooden rectangular table, surrounded by about a dozen mismatched chairs. “Where is everyone?”
“It’s early yet. Most kids don’t start trickling in until the late afternoon.” Sara gestured to the two closed doors along the furthest wall. “Those are the overnight rooms.”
“This is a shelter?” A place like this could have transformed his life.
“No. Not officially. And minors don’t stay here. As much as I wish we could take them in, it could shut us down.” An older man with white hair and a Santa Claus beard stepped out from one of the cubicles. “But from time to time, we do offer an alternative for someone who would otherwise have to sleep on the street.”
He offered his hand. “Paul Foster. I’m a pastor at the Episcopal church a few streets over. My husband Chris and I run this place.”
Robby accepted the handshake. “Robby Jordan. You’re doing important work.”
The reverend nodded. “Where are you from, son?”
Just thinking about Sherman made Robby break out in a cold sweat. “Um, a small town a few hours from here. You’ve never heard of it.”
“I might. Try me.”
Robby swallowed, his eyes already scanning for the exit. “I don’t like to talk about it.”
“Stop giving him the third degree, Paul.” Sara’s chiding was gentle but effective. “I think Robby might be willing to help out as a volunteer, maybe mentor some of the street kids.”
“Really?” Paul raised his eyebrows. “Excellent. We’re always looking for volunteers. Sara will get you started.” With a wave, he went back to the cubicle where he’d been working.
Robby bit back a sigh of relief. “The guy’s really a pastor?” he asked under his breath. “Old Reverend Green would have an aneurism over a man of God married to another man.”
His childhood preacher had been all hellfire and brimstone. Old Testament through and through. All of his sermons felt like a warning about what would happen to anyone who strayed from just the right path. It was a miracle Robby managed to hold on to his faith all these years, despite the damage his old church had done to his heart.
“Paul’s the real deal.” Sara pulled out one of the heavy wooden chairs and sat down. “So is this place. I think you could make a difference here.”
“Me? I barely made it out of my teens alive. All the stuff I did? What I lived through? I’d make a terrible role model.”
She tilted her head. “You said it yourself. You lived through it. The same things they’re trying to live through right now. You made it to the other side. And you made an impression on me, which isn’t easy to do. Just think about it.” Grabbing his hand, she pulled him toward the cubicle where Paul had stepped in. “In the meantime, there are plenty of other things you can do to help. How are you with paperwork? I’ll introduce you to Chandler, our outreach organizer. He can always use some help.”
Now she was speaking his language. “I’m a pro. Just hand me a clipboard and point me in the right direction.” Sara could kill two birds with one stone. Pawn off her paperwork and help him avoid thinking about a rocky past both distant and far too recent for comfort.
***
Thanks to a head-clearing day of distraction at the Q-Center, by Monday morning, Robby had almost convinced himself he could ignore everything that had happened between him and Matt both Friday and Saturday nights. They’d been friends before, and they would keep being friends now. And friends didn’t judge. Not for ill-advised kisses or drunken jealousy. Or even admitting a drug problem.
What the hell had he been thinking, sharing some of his shame?
He should’ve gone to a meeting last night.
Taking a deep breath, he relished the last few moments of solitude before the rest of the team arrived at the work site. Flipping to the back page on his clipboard, he scribbled one of his favorite affirmations.
God forgives my wrongdoings and never remembers my sins.
It was from Hebrews. He’d always been more partial to the New Testament.
Maybe it wasn’t fair to expect Matt to take the high road to the same degree as his Heavenly Father, but one could always hope.
Hope is a many splendored thing.
He squinted at what he wrote.
“It’s love,” Kane thundered as he read over his shoulder.
Instinct pulled the clipboard to his chest, but Kane had already walked over to the corner of the unfinished garage and set his cooler on the floor. He winked as he popped open a can of Red Bull. “Love Is a Many Splendored Thing. It was a movie in the fifties.”
Oh yeah. William Holden.
He tried to imagine Kane watching the classic romance and failed. The confusion must have been obvious because Kane chuckled. “Mandy watches all kind of weird shit these days. I blame the pregnancy hormones. Besides, if it gives me an excuse to cuddle up next to her on the sofa, I’m not gonna turn it down.”
“Yeah, well. You shouldn’t read someone’s personal papers,” Robby huffed. “It’s rude.”
“Rude? Sounds like Kane’s up to his old tricks.” Brick ruffled Robby’s hair as he moved to stand by the cooler. “You fucking with Robby, man?”
Kane downed the small can of caffeine and tossed it into the trash barrel beside him. “Nothing worth getting anybody’s panties in a wad.”
Brick gave him an appraising look but said nothing before he turned his attention to Robby. “Everything else okay?”
Nope.
“Sure,” Robby said brightly. “Everything’s fine.”
Brick raised his eyebrow. “Fine, huh?”
The room fell silent as Matt walked in.
The man flashed him a tentative smile, then nodded to the other guys as he moved into the house.
Kane whistled. “What’s going on there? I think I just saw the closest thing to an expression that dude’s had on his face in the past year.”
Brick elbowed him in the ribs. “Stop teasing.”
Some of the tension eased from his stiff shoulders. It was hard to be uptight around these two. “It’s okay. We’ve been hanging out. He’s a friend.” As much as he’d like it to be more, friendship was no small thing.
“Does he talk and shit?”
A poet, Kane was not.
“Yes.” Robby narrowed his eyes. “We talk. We play PlayStation. He even came over to hang out at my apartment the other night.”
Kane waggled his eyebrows, and Brick elbowed him again. “Fuck, brother, that shit hurts.”
Robby laughed. “You’d better stop talking and get working in the attic before you end up with bruises you have to explain to your wife.”
***
Matt
Memories of his old roommate had plagued Matt ever since Robby’s drunken revelation. Honestly, with their kiss, the new job, his civil conversation with Patty, and Robby’s admission, Matt’s head was reeling. It was hard to focus on just one thing.
But how many times had he blown off the warning signs with Shawn? Put his homework first? Or plans with Patty? Or dinner at his mom’s?
How many times did he promise himself he would ask if Shawn was okay when the guy came home wasted or passed out? They’d only lived together a few months, but Matt had known something was wrong. The guy was like two different people when he was high versus when he wasn’t. In the last few weeks of his life, he’d lost so much weight, a stiff wind would’ve knocked him over.
Still, Matt put off a conversation about it. He didn’t ask any questions. And he found Shawn one Sunday morning, dead on the living room floor, a needle still hanging from his arm.
He wouldn’t make the same mistake again. This time, he’d be there for his friend even if it was uncomfortable. Even if he didn’t think of him entirely as a friend at all.
Resolved, he tracked Robby down in the trailer outside of the house. “You got a minute, Rob?”
Robby looked up from the papers on his desk. A blush stained his cheeks and a wooden smile flashed across his face. “Sure. Did you have a good day at the bar yesterday? You had your boy this weekend, right?”
“Yes. To both questions.” Matt closed the door behind him and took a seat across from Robby. He swallowed down his nerves. “I want to talk about you, if it’s okay.”
Robby’s gaze swept down, and he began rearranging the plans and office supplies around him. “I’m cool. I just overdid things a little. It happens. No big deal.”
The temptation to accept the brush-off rose like a tidal wave, but the memory of Shawn’s slack face tamped it down. “I’m kind of new to having friends, so I’m probably doing this all wrong. But I’m going to get up in your business for a minute.”
The only sound in the room was the quiet hum of the air conditioning. Robby sat frozen, silent. Like ignoring Matt’s words would make him unsay them.
“I want you to know I am here for you. If you’re struggling with drugs or booze or…anything. You can call me anytime. We can talk or play games or hang out. You don’t have to go through this alone.”
Robby looked up, his expression neutral. “I haven’t done drugs in a long time. Years.” He exhaled. “I don’t really drink anymore either. Saturday, obviously, was an exception.”
“Did you—did I have anything to do with your slip? Was it the kiss or Patty or—”
“No.” Robby clenched his jaw and tugged against his collar.
His answer was emphatic, but Matt couldn’t tell if it was truthful.
Robby’s gaze flicked to the door, back to Matt, then the door again. Clearly, he wanted out.
“Listen, man, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Matt leaned forward. “Just promise me, you’ll reach out if you need me. Please.”
Robby stopped looking the door and met Matt’s stare. “I will. I promise.”
Chapter THIRTEEN
Robby
Matt leaned back in his chair with Robby’s assurance. His attempt to reach out was both awkward and sweet. And mortifying.
Flexing his fingers, Matt bobbed his head a little, like there was music in the room only he could hear. “I—I heard some of the Battlefield maps were on sale today.”
They’d been on sale almost twenty-four hours, but it didn’t take a genius to see Matt was trying. The games were a safe topic and easy way to an extend an olive branch.
Matt tapped his foot in a patter against the floor, his entire leg shaking with the staccato movement.
His nerves eased some of Robby’s own. “Really? We can check ’em out tonight if you’re not too busy with the baby.”
The bouncing stopped. “Nah. He’s back with his mom. I’d like to hang out a lot.” Matt glanced down at the plans. “Hey, are these the proposals for the custom build on Maple?”
“Yeah.” Robby frowned. “I think they’re still trying to figure out how to work in something weird the client wanted to do with the second floor. Some kind of rooftop deck? I dunno.”
Matt rubbed his chin. “I’ve actually got an idea about the proposal. There are a couple of sketches in my car if you think they might help.”
“Awesome.” This time, Robby’s grin was real.
It didn’t waver as he followed Matt down the steps, but it fell away as he came face to face with the very last person he expected to find at work.
John Porter stood with his polished loafers in the center of the muddy construction site. He’d folded the sleeves of his button-down shirt to his elbows. The shirt was tucked neatly into his pressed black slacks. He crossed his arms and gave off a cool expression as he surve
yed the build. “Not a bad little set-up you have here.”
Robby took the last step down and faced his ex, head-on. “What are you doing here?”
“Just visiting an old friend.” His face was all innocence.
Robby didn’t buy it for a second. “We were never friends, John.”
Like a viper, John’s hand shot out and gripped the back of Robby’s neck. “That’s not how I remember it at all. We were the best of friends.” He tugged Robby toward him and gripped his hip with his other hand. “God, you feel just like I remember. The other night only whetted my appetite for another taste.”
Robby strained against John’s hold on him. “Let me go. I don’t want you here.”
“You heard him,” Matt growled. “Get lost.”
John purred into Robby’s ear as if Matt had never spoken. “Then where? I heard you were back at our old haunt Saturday. Maybe looking for me? Let’s go back into your trailer, and I’ll give you what you’ve been missing the past few years.”
Wedging his hands against John’s chest, Robby tried to push him away. “I was not looking for you. We broke up for a reason, and I have no interest in going there again.”
Releasing his neck, John cupped him over the fly of his nice jeans. “Your mouth says one thing, but your body is saying something else.”
Matt shoved between them and John stumbled back. And before Robby could even breathe, John’s overwhelming presence vanished altogether. His body jerked away like a puppet on a string.
Brick stood beside Robby, his chest heaving, with veins bulging from the side of his neck. He had John’s collar gripped in his thick fist. “What is my body telling you right now, motherfucker?”
The color drained from John’s face as Brick’s second hand wrapped around his throat.
“You think consent is a joke?” Brick shook him like a rag doll.