Final orders, p.28
Final Orders, page 28
part #5 of Hazard and Somerset: Arrows in the Hand Series
“He needs a little time to calm down,” Somers said.
But the sobs were so violent that Somers felt himself flush when he heard his own words.
“Let’s give him a few minutes,” Somers said. He took Hazard’s hand and tugged. “Five minutes.”
They sat on the couch. It wasn’t the worst five minutes of Somers’s life, but they came close. They had a stretched-out quality that he associated with all the worst waiting in his life: waiting, helpless, while Cora gave birth to Evie; waiting, helpless, for ambulances—he’d waited for so many ambulances, he was realizing now; waiting, helpless, while Mikey Grames had tuned up on him. Minutes like taffy. You kept pulling and pulling, trying to get to the end of one, just one, and the more you pulled, the more there was.
After three minutes, Hazard got up and went into the kitchen.
After five, he came out, his eyes red, a paper towel crumpled in one hand, a screwdriver in the other.
“I don’t care what he says. I’m going in there, and I’m going to make sure he’s ok.”
Somers reached the stairs first and held up a hand.
“Move, John.”
Above them, Colt’s crying sounded just as heartrending as before; if it had eased up at all, Somers couldn’t tell. “Hang out a minute. Let me see if he’ll talk to me.”
Hazard hesitated.
“If this doesn’t work, you can go for it.”
He didn’t nod, but Somers took the silence as assent. He turned and headed up to Colt’s room. When he got there, he tried the handle, discovered it was locked, and rapped on the door.
Colt was still sobbing, but through the tears he managed to say, “Go away.”
“Bubs, it’s me. You’ve got us both pretty scared. Could you open the door so I can check on you? You don’t have to talk right now, but you need to open the door.”
The only answer was more of those heartsick sobs.
“Bubba, if you don’t open up, Emery is going to force his way in. Let’s do this the easy way, ok? And after I make sure you’re ok, I’ll leave you alone, and we can talk whenever you’re ready.”
The crying diminished, and a moment later, Somers heard the lock release. He waited a moment and pushed the door open.
Colt lay on the bed, his face to the wall, a pillow over his head. If he was still crying, he had at least managed to master the sobs that had wracked him, and now the room was unnaturally silent. Somers sat on the bed. He put a hand on Colt’s leg. The boy compressed the pillow with one arm. Somers gave him a good couple of minutes, and then he said, “Bubba, I can’t check on you with a pillow over your head.”
Whatever Colt said, it was most definitely an outraged grumble.
“Come on,” Somers said, chafing Colt’s leg. “Let me take a look.”
A split lip. A goose egg on his forehead. What was going to be one hell of a shiner. And, of course, the red eyes and raw nose from all the crying.
“Let’s stop the bleeding. I’ll be right back.”
When Somers returned with the first aid kit, Colt had the pillow over his face again.
“Bubs.”
The boy made another of those noises of infinite discontent and inched the pillow aside. He stared at the ceiling, his eyes full of tears, blinking them into channels that ran along the sides of his face. Somers took a piece of gauze, doubled it over, and said, “Do you want me to do it?”
Colt shook his head.
Somers pressed the gauze into the boy’s hand, and Colt squeezed it around his lip. They sat in silence for a moment, Somers rubbing Colt’s leg, the house settling around them with the creaks and pops and groans of the end of another day. Downstairs, Hazard’s heavy tread made the floorboards protest, and then there was a small crash and a string of swears. Somers laughed in spite of himself, and Colt looked like he might laugh for a moment before a fresh flood of tears started and he squeezed his eyes shut.
“It’s ok,” Somers said. “He loves you. He’ll understand.”
Colt screwed his eyes shut even tighter as the tears ran faster.
“He was about to come up here with a screwdriver,” Somers said.
Colt made a little noise.
“I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the handles all have flatheads, and he had a Phillips.”
That got a tiny laugh, and Colt scrubbed at his eyes with his free hand.
“Let’s check that lip, bubs.”
When Colt peeled the gauze away, the bleeding appeared to have stopped.
“Want an ice pack?”
Colt shrugged, which was impressive for a boy who was lying down.
Somers considered him; after a moment, Colt’s eyes slid toward the wall. Not just the wall, Somers realized after a moment. He was staring at the hole that had been knocked in the sheetrock. It looked like someone had punched the wall and missed breaking their hand by a matter of inches.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Somers asked.
Colt shook his head.
“Do you want me to leave you alone?”
Nothing. The boy stared at the ceiling again, his eyes welling up again.
Stupid question, Somers thought. He’d been alone most of his life.
From the hall came the soft scuff of a not-quite-stealthy-enough step.
“If we’re too quiet up here,” Somers said, “you know he’s going to check on us.”
Colt made a noise of mixed disgust and impatience.
“Come on,” Somers said, slapping Colt’s thigh. “We’re going to fix up your room before you go to bed.” Raising his voice, he added, “Which means we’re about to go out into the hall.”
A board creaked, and then a muffled swear from outside the room made Colt shake his head.
“I know,” Somers said. “Come on.”
Hazard was conspicuously absent as they made their way downstairs, although there was a particularly attentive silence coming from the dining room. They stopped in the kitchen long enough for Colt to get an icepack and swallow a couple of ibuprofen before they continued to the basement. He got one of the self-adhesive mesh patches that he’d started buying five at a time since Colt and Ashley had become friends. Then he found the drywall knife and the spackle. They carried everything upstairs.
Colt sat crisscross while Somers used the drywall knife to knock out the loose pieces of paper and gypsum in the hole. Then he lined up the patch and pressed it into place.
“Time for you to learn how to do this. Grab the knife and the spackle.”
Colt made a face, but he set the icepack aside and worked open the lid on the spackling compound. “It’s purple.”
“It’ll dry white. The color makes it easier to see. Get some on your knife and start applying it over the mesh.” Somers watched as Colt began to slather on the spackle. “Not so much; that’s enough. You want to feather it out around the edges.”
Face intent with concentration, Colt worked the knife, spreading the spackle. When he spoke, his voice had the old, defensive edge that Somers recognized from when the boy had first come to them. “What does that mean, feather it?”
“You apply more pressure.” Somers took Colt’s wrist and adjusted it. “And you increase the angle of the knife. You’re trying to thin it out toward the edges.”
“To blend it in.”
“Exactly.”
For a moment, Colt looked so pleased with himself that the split lip and the knot on his head were barely noticeable. He worked steadily, feathering the spackle around the patch, his expression fixed in earnest attentiveness. Somers was so caught up in the quiet that he was a second behind when the boy started speaking.
“I put something on Instagram. On that Wildcat Tea account.” Cheeks ruddy, Colt kept his gaze on the knife and the patch as he added in a rush, “It’s a pic of Gwen hooking up with another guy.”
Somers let that information land. Then he asked, “Is that what Ashley was upset about?”
Colt nodded. The spackle was beginning to dry, the color leaching out of it. He trailed the blade of the knife over it, and it made a fine, rasping noise. If anything, the boy’s face got redder. “Do you know how many times I’ve hung out with Ash, just Ash, since they started dating? Twice. And once was tonight when he kicked my ass. She’s always with him. And he—he’s not even the same, you know? He laughs at her stupid jokes. And he acts like the stuff she wants to talk about is so interesting. And when I’m there, it’s like I’m invisible, and Gwen loves that. She’ll do things like sit between us or pick a table where there aren’t enough seats.” Colt shook his head, lowering the knife as he sat back and grabbed the icepack. His words took on a slight mumbling quality as he pressed it against his lip. “And the minute she got wasted, she was trying to hook up with Tony. It’s fucking bullshit. Ash is, like, the best. If she can’t see that, she doesn’t deserve him. And I’m not going to sit by and let her make him look, you know, like that. And it’s so fucking unfair because Ash got mad at me, even though I was just looking out for him. I mean, you’d want to know if someone were cheating, right? He’s so stupid sometimes.”
Somers replaced the lid on the spackling compound. He laid the drywall knife on top of the tub. He hooked his arms around his knees, and only then did he look at his son.
Colt was wiping his eyes again. In a thick voice, he asked, “Did you hear what Ash said?”
Somers nodded.
“J-H, I think I really fucked up.”
Scooting closer, Somers pulled the boy into a hug. When he released him, he said, “It’s going to be ok, bubba.”
Colt shook his head. Emotion choked the words that followed: “He hates me.”
“He’s hurting. It’s humiliating to know that someone cheated on you, and when people are embarrassed and in pain, anger is a defense mechanism. And if I’m being fully honest, bubs, I think you know—and I think Ash knows—that you didn’t post those pictures of Gwen because you were trying to protect Ash.”
Shaking his head again, Colt wiped his eyes, his face turned down to the floor.
“When we were in high school,” Somers said, “I was awful to Emery. You knew we weren’t friends, but I don’t think you know how bad it was. A lot of that was because I was scared of what I was feeling, Colt. Not just about boys, although that was terrifying, but for him in particular. And part of what was so scary was worrying about what everyone would do when they found out. I was convinced I knew what was going to happen: if anyone learned the truth about me, they’d hate me. I wouldn’t have any friends. My family would disown me. My life would be over. And you know what? I was a coward, and so, for a long time, I wasn’t honest about who I was or what I wanted, and I hid by—by making Emery’s life worse.” He had to stop then to swallow, the past like a noose around his throat.
Colt sniffled and ran the back of his hand under his nose. “Pops said everybody knew he was gay.”
“Emery’s a lot braver than I am.” Somers tried to gather his fractured thoughts. “I hadn’t really thought about that scared kid, the one who was willing to sacrifice anyone else to be safe, in a while; I thought I’d gotten rid of those particular demons. And I told myself that things were different now, that nobody had to hide who they were anymore because the world, in a lot of ways, has become a better place for people who are different. But then we started working this case, and—” Somers had to take several deep breaths. “I guess I’m starting to think that there’s always a reason to hide who you are and what you want. There’s always a reason to be scared. I’ve been thinking about what I wish I could have said to that kid. I wish I could have told him that, as scary as it was, nothing was as bad as hiding from myself. I wish I could tell him that being honest, that going after what I wanted, was worth it, even when it was hard.”
Colt sat there, toying with the handle of the drywall knife, spinning the tool in a circle. “It doesn’t matter; Ash hates me now.”
“He doesn’t hate you.”
Colt shifted the icepack against his lip. When he spoke, his voice was still taut with pain, but a thread of what might have been nervous excitement ran through it. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Well, first thing, no matter what you decide to do about Ash, you’re going to take those pictures of Gwen down. That’s not what decent people do, Colt. The rest of it is up to you, although you know Emery and I will be happy to talk to you about it and help you however we can.”
Colt made that noise of disgust again, but he wiped his eyes. “He’d make a list of a million bullet points.”
“The bullet points would be the brainstorming; you’d have a full-blown outline, with like fourteen sub-sub-sub points, by the time he finished.”
The boy tried to laugh as he turned his face into his shoulder.
“I told you what I wish someone had told me,” Somers said quietly. “But I think you’re more like Emery than you are like me. Braver, I mean.”
“I’m like you too,” Colt said quickly.
“I know you are, but you know what I mean.”
Colt was silent for a long time. “He really had a Phillips?”
“Bubs, he was so proud of himself.”
In a voice that sounded a lot more like the boy Somers loved, Colt said, “One time I saw him using one level to check another level.”
Somers half-groaned and half-laughed, and Colt burst into laughter that was a little wilder than usual, a little louder, all that excess emotion still trying to find its way out.
When they’d both calmed down, Colt squished the softening icepack between both hands, looking at the floor again. “I’m going to message Ash. I guess I’m going to tell him—” He stopped there, but Somers knew what was at the bottom of that particular cliff-dive.
“I think that’s the right thing. He might not respond the way you want, but then again, he might. You won’t know until you try, and at least you’ll be honest. But my rec? Give him a day; let him cool down.” Gathering up the drywall repair supplies, Somers said, “We’re going to let that dry. Then we sand it. Then we paint it. And by we, bubba, I mean you.”
Colt rolled his eyes and nodded. “Will you—can you ask Pops if I can talk to him?”
That squeaky floorboard in the hall suggested Somers probably was a redundant messenger, but he nodded. He gave Colt another hug, kissed his hair, and went downstairs. By that point, Hazard was very busy looking like he’d been reading a book the whole time.
With an unbearably bad attempt at casualness, Hazard looked up. “How did it—”
“Uh uh,” Somers said.
Chagrin pinkened Hazard’s cheeks. “Is he ok?”
“He will be. He wants to apologize, which I think you already know.”
Hazard stood, but his gaze remained locked on Somers. “John, are you—”
“I’m fine. Get up there, dummy.” He softened the words with a smile.
Hazard nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on him. After a moment, he moved toward the stairs.
Somers carried everything down to the basement and put it away. He washed up at the utility sink, and then he went to their bedroom. When he passed Colt’s door, the murmur of voices came from under the door. He stripped down to his boxers, turned out the lights, and stretched out on the bed. His face felt hot, and a flush ran down his neck, stippling his chest. He turned into the pillow. He waited for it, and then he wondered why he wasn’t doing something. At the least, he ought to have been crying.
The darkness warped his sense of time and, later, his sense of space, until he felt adrift. Light pollution filtered through the blinds, turning whatever it touched to ash. He flipped the pillow when it was no longer cool. He tried it again, but it didn’t work as well that time. He might have slept, but shipwrecked in the dark like this, it was hard to tell it apart from waking.
Footsteps pulled him up, the click of the door shutting, and then, a few moments later, the mattress dipping under new weight. Hazard’s hand came to rest on his belly, the touch warm and solid, the hint of calluses pleasantly abrasive. He wrapped his hand around Hazard’s wrist and squeezed.
“I had no idea—” Hazard began.
“Eavesdropping is a dirty habit, Ree.”
Silence trickled between them. And then, his tone knotted with frustration: “Why didn’t you say something?”
Somers sighed and rolled onto his back. Hazard’s hand moved with him, the slight friction of skin on skin. “Because at first I was surprised. I thought—I thought I’d worked through a lot of that stuff. A lot of the guilt. But when we talked to Joyce, when she told us about Evan, it caught me off guard. It was like someone was throttling me; I couldn’t breathe.” Somers shook his head. In the dark, Hazard was a bulky shadow, a greasepaint smear of head and shoulders. And, of course, the weight of his hand. “And then I tried to talk myself out of it. You know, really good pep talks—we’ve done this before, you’re over this, etcetera, etcetera. I told myself that I was scared about Colt, seeing him with Ashley, thinking someone might do this to him. And that’s true. Partly. I guess it was all right until I was in that interview room with Evan.”
“You did what you had to do.”
“I terrorized a kid with the exact same secret that I was so scared of other people learning. I don’t know, Ree. I honestly don’t know. And then he tried to kill himself, and then seeing his parents at the hospital—it’s a lot. I’m living that nightmare all over again, only I’m on the other side now, and that’s so much worse.”
Neither of them spoke for a minute. The springs protested when Hazard shifted his weight, and then silence dropped again. “Is that what—” He left the question unasked, but Somers knew—the sex; the hard, furious, punishing fuck. Somers nodded, and then he remembered that it was dark.
Hazard must have seen enough of the movement to interpret it, though, because before Somers could speak, Hazard let out a heavy breath. “Could I offer a suggestion?”
It was so polite, so strangely formal, that Somers grinned. “Suggest away.”
