by Sidney Bell
“Hey,” she said. “I got the lumber barons to agree to deliver to your workshop without any added charge. And since I’ve used up my allotment of awesome for the day, I’m gonna take my kid home. You good?”
Miller nodded, though his pulse was still galloping. “I’m good.”
She pursed her lips and didn’t leave. And didn’t leave. And still didn’t leave.
“Good night?” he prompted.
She still didn’t leave.
“If you’re going to sleep there, I’ll have to charge you rent,” he pointed out.
“We can talk about it, you know that, right?” she said abruptly.
“Rent? I was joking.”
She sucked in a breath. “I mean you and Church. It’s—”
The roaring, which had been almost absent for the past two weeks, rushed back so fast and so strongly that it left him lightheaded. He swayed in his chair. “What?”
“We should talk, that’s all.” She squared her shoulders like a soldier on the edge of battle. “Not now, because if I don’t feed my kid, she’s gonna start screaming about unfair labor laws or some other noble cause, but this thing with you and Church—”
“There is no thing with me and Church.” If he’d thought his pulse was fast before, he hadn’t known anything about speed, because now it’d become a jackhammer, and he was sick, God, he thought he might throw up.
“Miller. Seriously? You think I can’t tell?”
His eyes burned, and he couldn’t figure out why—oh, because he hadn’t blinked in a while, that’d do it, and he’d gotten up to pace apparently, and she was still talking, so he talked over her, because she—somehow she’d gotten the wrong idea. Well, the right idea, but it was wrong, it was all wrong, and he heard himself from far away—
“—must have misunderstood, there’s nothing, there’s nothing between us, it’s...he’s my friend, that’s all, we’re friends, Shel, don’t be stupid, you’re overreacting.”
“I’m overreacting?” she repeated, and he flinched, a full-body flinch both humiliating and revealing, and her face shifted, it sort of crumpled, and he realized he’d confirmed it for her, and she was upset, it was all over her face how upset she was, and before she could leave, he blurted, “It’s not like that, it’s—You’ve got the wrong idea. It’s not, um, like that.”
“Mill, I have eyes, okay, I can see what the two of you are like together.”
The roar hurt now it was so loud, a jet engine in his brain, and everything had gone jagged inside him, jagged and badly fitting and wrong, and the things he was saying were...well, they were wrong too, and they hurt too, hurt physically, but they were coming out anyway—
“That’s...it’s just sex, Shel, it’s not, it’s, it doesn’t mean anything, okay? It’s just guys, uh, buddies, you know? Helping each other out. Because it’s convenient, and that’s...that’s all. We’re not like, together, we’re not, I would never, it’s not, uh, like—like...”
Hands guided him over to the couch. “Put your head between your knees, dumbass,” Shelby said, her voice firm and tender at once. This was Shelby’s mother-voice, the one she pulled out when Em was on the verge of collapse, the one that meant I love you, I will fix this, I will be here.
Her eyes were kind. Damp and worried and so kind, their mother’s eyes, looking at him the same way Mom used to look at him, loving and accepting, and he couldn’t breathe. She climbed onto the couch next to him and wrapped her arms around him. “You can love whoever you want, Mill, I’m not gonna love you less. You can love him, okay? I’m not going to hate you, stupid, and I’m not gonna leave.”
That’s how he realized he was saying, “Don’t hate me, don’t hate me, don’t leave.”
He slammed his mouth shut and pressed his face into her hair.
“You’re so dumb, Mill. Me and Em...we’re not going anywhere. You’re so dumb to think that,” she whispered, holding on tighter. Her voice thickened like she might cry, and she clung to him like she thought he’d try to leave, as if that could happen. She and Em were the only family he had left, the only people who knew the real him and liked him anyway, people that he knew and loved too. And Jesus, they would stay. Shelby was hugging him and Em—Em had a rainbow Ally patch sewn on her backpack, and he felt every bit as dumb as Shelby had said, because Em would walk through fire to protect him with her fierce little glare, and they were going to stay, they were going to love him anyway. Shelby’s arms were so tight it hurt, but she was the only thing holding him together at the moment, and suddenly he understood. He understood what was happening, and he breathed out, breathed out, breathed out, and listened as she whispered, over and over, “You’re so dumb, little brother. You’re so dumb.”
* * *
Church hurried blindly through the store, away from the office, away from the words echoing through his head, Miller’s words, in Miller’s voice—”It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just guys helping each other out. Because it’s convenient, and that’s all. We’re not together.”
Em called his name, but he couldn’t stop. He recognized this eager rage, and he couldn’t let himself stay here. He couldn’t be that man again, and that meant he couldn’t stay. He was running by the time he hit the door, and he burst out into the cold night air, got halfway across the parking lot before he bent over, rested his palms on his thighs and tried to think.
Didn’t work out so well. The thinking thing. He pulled out his phone and dialed the number of the only person who would understand this red haze over his vision, the only person who wouldn’t try to calm him down or reason with him or tell him to forgive. The only person who would be 100 percent on his side, the only person who would see Church for exactly what he was—enraged and violent—and find that completely acceptable.
There was no answer. Again. It rolled over to voice mail.
“Ghost,” Church choked out. He tried to catch his breath long enough that he could make sense. “Miller said...he doesn’t... Ghost, please.” He couldn’t think of a single other thing to say, and eventually he hung up. He waited. Waited for the ring, for a text, for anything.
Nothing.
So with an angry jab of his thumb, he deleted Ghost’s contact information.
Fuck him too.
He vibrated on the asphalt, the chill of December doing nothing to ease his fury, the faint, whistling breeze barely registering. He was on the verge of lobbing his phone, of hitting the nearest car, of screaming until his voice gave out when he heard “Church?”
He whirled. Em. She was behind him, her pink parka zipped up to the throat, a pinched, pale look on her face. She picked up a rock big as an egg and held it out.
“Throw it,” she whispered, pointing at the empty lot across from them. “Far as you can.”
Church had to be scaring her, but she was here and helping, and throwing something sounded a lot better than hurting someone or running away, so he took the rock and chucked it, the muscles in his arm singing. A second later came a distant thud where the rock landed.
It wasn’t enough, but by the time he turned back to her, she had another waiting, and he threw that one too, and the next and the next, and finally, long minutes later, when his arm and back ached, he waved her off.
“I’m okay,” he said, and it wasn’t a lie exactly. He was cracked open and empty, but he wasn’t going to break anything or anyone, and that was what mattered. “Thanks, kid.”
“Yeah.” She brushed hair out of her eyes. “Was that my fault? Because I figured it out?”
“No.” He tucked her against him for a sideways hug. “That didn’t have anything to do with you, Em. You’re a sweetheart.” He let her go; his throat was getting thick. “Let me see you get back inside, okay? I gotta walk the rest of this off.”
He waited until she was safe behind locked doors before he started off i
nto the darkness.
Chapter Nineteen
“I don’t get why you felt like you had to hide it,” Shelby said.
Miller licked his lips. “After I told you Church was gay, you said you hoped he wouldn’t be bringing guys back to my place.”
She gave him a dirty look. “Yeah, because I thought Church might end up dating the kinds of guys who’d steal your stereo.”
“You still wear your cross,” Miller countered. “You still attend church. I know what Dad thought about it—”
“I wear the cross because it was Mom’s. Did you miss the way my attendance at Mass is sort of spotty? Besides, not everyone at St. Benedict’s is an asshole, you know. Mom’s friends weren’t assholes. I’m not an asshole. At least, not about this sort of thing. You could’ve told me.”
Miller studied her for a second. “Okay.”
“Okay. Are you gonna be out now?”
Miller shook his head. “I don’t... I don’t know.”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
Maybe it turned out that he hadn’t needed to hide it from Shelby, but that didn’t mean he’d never have to hide it. It was like Church had said. Coming out was something he’d have to do over and over, and in some situations, it wouldn’t be safe. Not emotionally, and maybe not physically either. He’d read this one wrong, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be times when he’d be right to keep his mouth shut.
Suddenly, and for the first time, the thought of it made his whole body shaky with anger instead of anxiety.
It wasn’t fair.
“You remember Thanksgiving last year?” he asked, digging his fingers into his thighs. “Quinns versus Nelsons in the park? When Paulie scored that last touchdown, do you know what he said to me?”
“No.”
His jaw worked. “‘You play ball like a fag, Miller.’ He wasn’t trying to be a creep. He was teasing. But that’s how he thinks. That’s the least of what he’d say if he knew. He’s not the only one, either. They’ll see me that way, they’ll say all these horrible things, and I don’t want that. I don’t want to deal with everyone looking at me and judging me and...”
“It’s tragic, but they’ll burn.”
He glanced at her. “I don’t want to kiss Church on the street and have some religious old man like Dad use it against me. They’ll make it ugly. What I have with Church is good and it makes me happy, but they’ll make it ugly.”
“Some people will try,” Shelby said, a tad uncertainly. “But—”
“I shouldn’t have to put up with it,” Miller replied, and again there was that spark of anger. “If I can’t count on my own father to see me as I am... I’m not the guy who can go to rallies and tell people to fuck off when they judge me. I don’t fight, Shelby. When people say things that piss me off, I don’t tell them. I... I hid this from you, fuck, I hid this from myself, sort of...or I tried, at least. I never let myself look at it, because I’m not strong enough to do this. I don’t want to have to fight like this all the time. It doesn’t change anything that Dad’s dead and that you’re not a jerk about it, because the rest of the world...”
“You sound mad enough for a fight at the moment,” she pointed out, watching him with her eyebrows practically in her hair. She smiled a little. “This is a good look for you.”
He elbowed her gently and opened his mouth to say something rude and brotherly and probably gross, but Em cleared her throat in the doorway.
“Um, I don’t know what you guys are talking about, but I think Church heard you.”
It felt like a million things had happened in the past twenty minutes, so Miller had to cast his mind back to think about it.
“He looked really messed-up.” Em’s fingers knotted together. “He took off, but he was, like, really messed-up.”
That clarified it, and even if it hadn’t, Shelby’s soft curse would’ve reminded him exactly which part of their conversation would’ve been the worst for Church to overhear.
He was searching for his cell phone as Shelby asked Em, “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“Seriously?” he asked his sister. He loved her, most especially for everything that’d just happened, but Jesus, she was fucking stubborn.
Em huffed. “God, Mom, no.”
“He hits,” Shelby reminded him, unforgiving, one hand on her daughter’s shoulder.
“He ran,” Em cried, edging her way into full-blown teenager mode, and Miller had never liked the sound of it more. “He ran away from you guys and from me, and he didn’t hurt me at all, Mom, God.”
Shelby rolled her eyes. “Fine, I’m the jerk for wanting to protect my kid. Whatever.”
Miller dialed. He listened to the ring and waited for Church’s voice.
He kept waiting.
* * *
Lena waited.
She could see the truth for herself in the glossy photographs that Kellen had given to her, but until she saw Vasya’s face, until she heard his words, she wouldn’t let herself believe it. She sat at her desk and waited for Kellen to bring her son to her.
He was cursing when they arrived. He ran on, telling this story and that, half explanation, half denial, all the reasons he was right to keep selling these disgusting substances on the street like a common thug, and it was all lies, spoken sideways out of a dirty mouth.
“Have you obeyed or not?” she interrupted.
He didn’t say anything, the tilt of his chin mutinous, his shoulders broad and square. Answer enough, she supposed.
He didn’t look hers in that moment. There was something foreign about him. His father coming out in him, perhaps. She searched his face, but she wasn’t sure. She barely remembered that dark-haired Institute student from decades ago, a man who’d fed wine and words of romance to an innocent girl, only to vanish when he’d gotten what he wanted. She hadn’t known him well enough to be able to recognize him, years later, in the form of another man.
A man who was proving to be equally a stranger to her.
“You’ve been spying on me,” he spat.
“You’ve been lying,” she replied. “You put us in a bad position, Vasya. I’ve made my stance on drugs clear. They know I would not stand for this, and yet you go on, using my money—”
“You gave it to me for my business, mine!”
“—my money to disobey me, to humiliate me in front of the men who nibble at our heels, searching for any sign of weakness. Do you know how eager they are to find weakness in a woman?”
“Always this thing about women,” he sneered. “What about me? My pride as a man? You don’t listen. You don’t care. You don’t know about this side of business. That money was an investment. I can take a loss for a while to undercut the dealers in the area. They won’t be able to compete with my prices, and when they’re gone, I can charge whatever I want. We’ll make it all back. More, even.”
“You think the other dealers will allow this? That the men who run them, men I compete with, will simply accept it? You’re a fool. I should never have put you in charge of your brothers. You don’t think long-term, and you’ll teach them bad habits.”
His face went mottled red. “I know about the other dealers. I’m not stupid. Of course they’ll fight, but I’m stronger than they are. Strong enough to fight them off. You’re the one who doesn’t know how to be strong.”
This almost made her laugh. He’d been raised in near-luxury, with food and clean water and his own bed. He’d never fought for an education, for a voice. He’d never been held down by hands bigger than his own, been kept airless in a small room by someone with more power. He was spoiled and stupid. He didn’t know what strength was.
Not violence. Endurance.
“You’ll end it. Today. You will fall in step with my plans. Things are fragile right now, and the last thing I
need is you making things more complicated.”
He started to protest, and she snapped at him, vicious and fast as a wolverine. “You will stop the drugs. You will leave Ghost’s friend alone.”
He battled for it—she could see it in his face, and she sighed internally when his temper resurged. “Drugs are good,” he said, shrill like a child. Irrational. She wanted to kick him, to tell him that she had more knowledge, had age and wisdom and less ego and that he should shut up and listen, but he babbled on anyway: “You have to be hard in America. If you knew that, if you could be hard, we wouldn’t still be fighting with these other bastards over territory that should be ours.”
“I don’t know how to be hard?” she asked, eyes widening, appalled at his blindness. Hard in America? As if Americans knew anything of hardship? Even the poorest, meanest creature here was a king to the vulnerable of Russia. How had he lived as her son this whole time and not learned this?
“If you did, you would know you could’ve used Church against Ghost!” Vasya said, getting louder. “It would’ve been wrapped up already! All it would take is to break some of his bones, cut up his face, maybe, and Ghost would’ve done anything you said to save his friend, that’s what you have to do. I’d have done it for you, I’d have shown you, if you weren’t so stubborn, if you’d just listen—”
“Enough,” she shrieked in Russian. “No discussion. You do this now or there will be consequences, Vasya, I swear to you. Get out, get out!”
He threw her a look as spiteful as any she’d ever seen from an enemy, and said, low and mean, “You never listen. If you could only see—”
Kellen put a hand on his shoulder, and Vasya glared and glared and glared before he finally went.
When Kellen came back alone, Lena had her expression under control.
“Did you get it?” Lena asked.
Kellen set a folder on the desk. Lena would look at it later. She was too agitated to pay the information the attention it deserved. “It’s what we wanted?”
“It’ll do.”
Now she only needed a good moment to make the offer to Ghost. This was the right way. Not Vasya’s rough violence.
