Depth of Field (Last Chance Book 1)

by Riley Hart

  DEPTH OF FIELD

  A Last Chance Novel

  By Riley Hart

  Copyright © 2017 by Riley Hart

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  Published by:

  Riley Hart

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All products/brand names mentioned are registered trademarks of their respective holders/companies.

  Cover Design by X-Potion Designs

  Cover Photo by Kevin D. Hoover Photography

  Edited by Undivided Editing and Nathan at Indigo Marketing.

  Proofread by Judy’s Proofreading.

  Dedication

  To Chris. Because you deal with all our crazy writing shenanigans, and because you give the world’s best hugs. Glad I can call you a friend now too.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from A Hundred Thousand Words

  Acknowledgement

  About the Author

  Other books by Riley Hart

  PROLOGUE

  Shane didn’t flinch when the balled-up piece of paper hit him in the back of the head. He kept his eyes trained on the chalkboard as his math teacher worked out an equation.

  Another one hit him, and he ignored that too. There were a few chuckles behind him that Mrs. Johnson somehow didn’t hear. Not all teachers ignored Maxwell and his crew, but some did. Who wanted to fuck with the town’s golden boy? Maxwell and his family were revered as though they’d died on the cross for the sins of every resident in Last Chance—at least the ones that mattered. Maxwell was rich and good at football and baseball, after all.

  The room door opened and the principal stepped inside. “Can I have a quick word?” he asked.

  Mrs. Johnson nodded before telling the class to continue working the problem on paper before she left, closing the door behind her.

  His chair lurched forward when someone pushed it from behind. “Look at us when we want your attention, faggot.”

  That was enough to get a response from him. Shane’s body went rigid and the pencil in his hand snapped in two. It hadn’t been Maxwell who’d spoken, but Maxwell’s best friend, Jonathan. The papers had come from Maxwell though; Shane had been able to tell because of the angle.

  “Fuck you,” he said without turning around.

  “You think you got real big balls, but you don’t. You’re just a little queer. The town faggot. I bet you even suck dick to help pay the bills since your mama rarely leaves the house. She’s probably too embarrassed of you.”

  Shane shoved himself to his feet, an earthquake erupting beneath his skin. He could take a lot of shit. He did take a lot of shit, but one thing he wouldn’t deal with was anyone talking about his mom.

  “Shut up.” His hands balled into fists. Jonathan was bigger than him—Maxwell, too. They both played sports and lifted weights the way good little jocks did. Shane was too thin. At sixteen, he looked more like he was fourteen but that didn’t matter. Not in that moment.

  “Or what? What are you going to do about it?” Jonathan asked with a chuckle.

  “Keep talking, and you’ll find out.”

  “Oh, no. Please don’t. I’m so fucking scared of the faggot with toothpicks for arms.” Jonathan stood. “Sit down before you embarrass yourself.”

  “Take it back. What you said about my mom. Take it back.”

  Maxwell groaned. Shane glanced at him to see him roll his eyes. “Sit the fuck down and shut up before he kicks your ass. Jesus, you’re fucking stupid.”

  “What do you want me to take back?” Jonathan asked. “Everyone knows she’s fucked in the head. Can’t even leave the fucking house. Good thing she has her little bitch of a son to take care of her. I—umpf.” Jonathan grunted when Shane lunged at him. He hit Jonathan in his chest and tackled him. The only thing he had going for him was the element of surprise and sheer fury.

  “Oh, fuck,” Maxwell said before jumping to his feet and moving toward him. Shane swung every which way, taking out years of anger and frustration and torment on Jonathan.

  “Get the fuck off me! What the hell are you doing, you psycho? You’re just as crazy as your mom.” He covered his face and Shane kept swinging.

  People circled them. He was pretty sure someone ran out of the room. Maxwell grabbed at him, trying to pull him off Jonathan but Shane kept fucking swinging.

  “Shane Wallace! What are you doing? Get off him right now!” Mrs. Johnson screamed, and then it was the principal standing over them. Shane’s breaths came out in heavy, sharp pants. His eyes stung.

  “What happened?” Mrs. Johnson asked as Principal Dickinson pulled Shane off Jonathan.

  “He’s crazy! He attacked me!” Jonathan replied, as he pushed to his feet. “He’s lucky I didn’t fight back because I didn’t want to hurt him.”

  “Is that what happened?” Principal Dickinson asked. Shane didn’t reply. Just kept his mouth shut. What was the point? It didn’t matter if he told them what Jonathan said, or about Maxwell throwing shit at him. They’d make up some BS excuse about violence never being the answer. Plus, he didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of hearing him try to defend himself only to end up suspended anyway—because he would.

  He’d just attacked Jonathan Wilson—Maxwell Sullivan’s best friend. He was fucked no matter how he looked at it.

  “Son, if you’re not going to defend yourself, I’ll have no choice but to suspend you.”

  “Like you won’t do it anyway,” Shane replied. His eyes caught Maxwell’s and he could have sworn he saw Maxwell flinch, before pushing his hands into his pockets and looking down at the floor.

  “Come with me, Mr. Wallace,” Principal Dickinson said to Shane. He grabbed his things and followed the man out of the room.

  They called home and let his mom know he’d been suspended for three days for fighting. She couldn’t come and get him of course, because Jonathan had been right. His mom rarely left the
house. It wasn’t something that hit all of a sudden. She’d suffered from severe anxiety and panic attacks for years, but it steadily got worse and worse. She had to work up to leaving. Prepare herself. Sometimes she could and sometimes she couldn’t. Sometimes they had months where everything felt fine, but it always came back with a vengeance.

  By the time Shane was able to begin walking home, the school day was over. Someone stepped up to him and nudged him from the side. Shane whipped around, ready to defend himself before he saw it was Caleb.

  “What the fuck, dude?” Caleb asked.

  Shane shrugged. “He was talking shit about my mom. Pissed me off.”

  The corners of Caleb’s lips turned down. He looked away. He was the only person Shane considered a friend, the only one he gave a shit about other than his mom. They also liked to kiss and rub off on each other when they were alone—most of the time at Caleb’s place, or when they could manage to skip class together. No one knew about him and Caleb. Shane was pretty stoked about that benefit though.

  They used to hang out all the time. It started because they lived close together but the older they got, the more friends Caleb got too. He was never a dick to Shane and he always offered for Shane to hang out with them. Once they started giving each other orgasms, they silently made the choice not to show they were good friends; as though looking at them might prove Shane knew what Caleb’s mouth tasted like.

  What was the point in getting too close to Caleb anyway? In getting used to having someone there? Shane knew that in two years, Caleb would leave Last Chance, because who the fuck wouldn’t want to leave? Only Shane couldn’t. Who would take care of his mom if he did? So, he figured it was better not to let himself get too close.

  “I’m sorry,” Caleb said. “Want a ride home?” His parents had gotten him a piece of shit car, but it was his piece of shit. Shane had been playing around with his mom’s car, trying to get it running better. He was good at things like that, good with his hands and mechanical stuff, so he figured he’d get it eventually.

  “Nah, I’m good. I’d rather walk.”

  “Shane,” Caleb said.

  “Seriously. I just want to be alone.”

  Caleb nodded and gave Shane a sad smile before someone called his name.

  Caleb looked at Shane as though he wasn’t sure what to do. Shane nodded and said, “We’ll hang out later…call me when you get home if you wanna….”

  Caleb’s eyes darted around as though someone would know what Shane meant by what he said.

  “Okay,” Caleb replied before jogging away.

  Shane took as long as he could to walk home. As soon as he stepped into the house, his mom said, “Oh, Shaney. What happened? Fighting? That’s not like you.”

  He just shrugged. He didn’t tell her that Jonathan had said something about her, though she likely knew.

  “I’m sorry,” she replied.

  “He’s a jerk. It’s not your fault.” And it wasn’t…only sometimes it felt like it was. Sometimes Shane thought he hated her for what she dealt with and then he felt like an even bigger dickhead than Maxwell and Jonathan combined. How could he hate her for something that wasn’t her fault? She was sick.

  “I’m going to get better. I promise you, I’m going to get better.” And sometimes he thought she did. Sometimes things would be okay but they always went to shit again. “We have the stuff for chocolate cake. It’s your favorite. I’ll make it.”

  His mom wouldn’t punish him for the fight. Even if it had been his fault, she wouldn’t. Their dynamic didn’t work that way. “Okay,” Shane replied. “I’m going to get into the shower real quick.”

  She nodded and he went into the bathroom, stripped, and stepped under the spray. He looked down at his ribs that stuck out—even though he ate like a fucking horse. At his arms that looked like spaghetti noodles.

  Maybe if he saved money he could buy a bench press. He could find room for it in the garage around all his mom’s stuff….

  Shane finished showering. Once the chocolate cake was finished, they sat down and ate a piece. Caleb called, and Shane went over to his house. They closed themselves in his room, because why would anyone wonder why two sixteen-year-old boys were in a room together? They turned on video games and made out, clothes on because they hadn’t braved anything else yet, rubbing their dicks together through their clothes.

  When they both came, Caleb changed and gave Shane a towel to clean himself off. Luckily, it didn’t show through his pants. They played a game on Caleb’s system and then Shane went home and went to bed.

  It was late when he heard the noise outside. The clatter from the side of the house by his window.

  What the fuck?

  His mom would lose her mind if she heard it.

  Shane got out of bed and snuck through the living room. He opened the door quietly and heard, “What the fuck, man. Be careful before you get us caught,” in a hushed voice.

  Jonathan. He had no doubt in his mind who was with him.

  Shane took off toward them. As he rounded the corner, three figures stopped and looked at him from under black ski masks.

  “I called the cops!” Shane declared, even though he hadn’t.

  “Fuck you, you little pussy,” Jonathan said before he took off running. The second kid was right behind him. It was as though the third was frozen, unable to move. The moon was bright enough that Shane could see a can of spray paint by his feet.

  Shane stepped closer and the kid took a step back and then another one. The kid’s foot hit something and he tripped before falling on his ass. It was the perfect moment. Shane went after him; what he was going to do, he didn’t know.

  “The cops are on their way and you’re fucked,” he said.

  When the person didn’t move, Shane cocked his head slightly…what the hell? He walked over, grabbed the mask and pulled it off his head.

  Maxwell. His green eyes were wide and he was shaking. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t me. I didn’t paint it. I’m…please don’t tell on me. He’ll kill me for getting caught.”

  Shane’s heart raced. He froze, stared. “Who?” Who would kill him? Jonathan? Whoever the hell had been with them? Shane hardly believed the idiot would cross Maxwell. In a lot of ways, he wouldn’t be who he was without Maxwell by his side.

  “I’m sorry,” Maxwell said again, then shoved to his feet and ran.

  Shane turned and looked at the house, three black letters stared back at him: FAG.

  He picked up the can and blacked it out as best he could. First thing the next morning, he walked to the hardware store and bought some white paint, and covered it.

  His mom never knew. And that wasn’t the first—or the last—run-in he had with Jonathan and Maxwell.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Hey! How’s it going today, Mr. Miller?” Shane tossed the greasy towel over his shoulder as he walked toward his customer.

  “I’ve been bringing my cars to you for five years, Shane, and every time I ask you not to call me Mr. Miller. You make me feel old.” He crossed his arms with a small smirk on his lips.

  “You are old.” Shane winked at him, and earned himself a full-fledged laugh.

  “I guess you’d think so. Oh, to be thirty again. But just so you know, sixty isn’t too bad either, and it was one thing to call me Mr. Miller when you were a kid, but now you’re my favorite mechanic so Bill will do just fine.”

  Shane nodded at him. “Bill,” he said, though he was sure next time he saw the man he’d probably call him Mr. Miller again. It was just the way he’d always been. He might have changed a whole hell of a lot, but some old habits died hard. “What can I do for you today?” Shane leaned against a Mustang in the stall.

  “I drove to Albany this weekend. Picked myself up a Camaro. She’s a beauty, but she needs some work and there’s not a mechanic in the state I trust more than you.”

  Shane couldn’t help but smile at the compliment. He loved what he did.

  It hadn’t been easy, w
orking to get his certificate when he was eighteen. He’d driven back and forth from Last Chance to Portland. Every once in a while, he would stay overnight—still did from time to time when he wanted to fuck, but never for more than a night. He always worried about leaving his mom alone too long. “She here with you?” Shane asked, getting back to the topic of the Camaro. Who the fuck wouldn’t want to talk about a car like that? It was a whole lot better than dwelling on shit that would never change.

  “Of course, she is.” Bill walked out of the stall and Shane followed behind him. He made his way around the side of Last Chance Automotive, Shane’s baby, to see an older yellow Camaro, with just a little bit of body damage, but nothing he couldn’t fix. He did both—worked under the hood and worked on the body of cars.

  Shane whistled. “She’s a beauty.”

  Bill tossed him the keys. “Start her up and listen to her.”

  Shane caught the keys, opened the door, and sat inside. She smelled old, but he loved it—loved a weathered car with a story to tell and this one definitely had that. Shane put the key in the ignition and turned it. The car rumbled to life with a deep purr that made him smile.

  He could hear it though—a little sound in the engine that he would need to check out.

  “She sounds beautiful.”

  “Nothing like hearing a pretty lady purr,” Bill winked at him.

  Shane had no desire to hear a woman make the kinds of sounds Bill was talking about. For him it came from a man, always had, but most people didn’t know that. Scratch that, they didn’t acknowledge his sexuality. It wasn’t that Shane hid it, but there also weren’t a whole lot of gay bachelors in Last Chance. There was an older lesbian couple and the Richmonds had a gay nephew in his twenties who came to visit sometimes. As far as he knew, there were no other gay men in Last Chance—not since Caleb’s parents had dragged him away after he got caught skipping school with Shane. He grimaced, trying to forget the painful memory. After all this time, it shouldn’t still hurt.

  Without replying to Bill’s comment, Shane kept the car running, climbed out, and opened the hood. He listened to her real close, took a peek around. Oh yeah. He definitely wanted to work on that car.