Chapter 65

He waited, tracing the abstract print pattern on the tabletop with one finger. He could just see Jason from the corner of his eye. Jason turned to look at him every thirty seconds or so. Making sure he wasn’t running.

But Jason didn’t take out his phone, wasn’t frantically texting Kat (or Scooter) to come get them. Wasn’t ratting Andy out.

Jason came back with two medium sized cups, already beading condensation. “Blueberry peach,” Jason said, setting it on the table in front of him. “With an energy shot. You look like you need it.”

Andy nodded, dragged the cup a little closer, and took a sip from the straw. It was tart against the lingering taste of the chocolate gel, and then very very sweet. But it was cold and wet, and felt good, sliding down his throat. “Thanks,” he said again. Less hoarse that time.

“Terrible, isn’t it?” Jason took a long swig of his own drink and grimaced. “So…what’s got you so shook?”

Andy closed his eyes. He couldn’t do this if he had to watch Jason’s reaction. He rubbed his thumb along the side of the cup, wiping away the condensation, reminding himself that he was here. “…Little history,” he said. It took him a minute to force the words out, but Jason didn’t say anything, just waited. “My dad beat me.” It sounded so dry, so clinical, for something that had been so terrifying and painful. “Pretty bad, sometimes. Broke my arm twice that I can remember.” He paused, took a sip of his terrible smoothie to wash that bitter taste out of his mouth.

Jason’s voice was soft enough not to break his concentration, just a whisper. “Lord.”

“I was sixteen when I went to college. Gifted student. Guess Dad never hit me in the head. When I was seventeen, almost at the end of my second year, I met Nick. Nicholas Grant.” He hadn’t said, or even thought, the full name in ages. Nick was always just…Nick.

“Nick was twenty, I think. Maybe twenty-one. He was beautiful. Looked a lot like you, actually.” Andy’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Not quite as broad, but…Blond. Fit. Tall. I fell in…I thought it was love.

“He took care of me, best he could. Hated my dad. Hatedhim. More than me, I think. We’d been together for…four, five weeks, I guess, when he talked me into running away. Emancipated Minor status—well, not legally, because Dad had…pull. But Nick took pictures of the bruises, and blackmailed him, I think.” Andy shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Dad let me go. I dropped out of school, moved in with Nick.”

“You were a kid.” Jason’s mouth twisted. “A child.”

Andy shrugged, not able to deny it. “Yeah…You remember being seventeen though, right? So certain that there was no more the world could teach you. That you were ready to be an adult. You can’t tell a seventeen-year-old anything.” He stirred his drink with the straw. “I was a minor right at first, though. So Nick took care of everything. Lease, money, all of it. And it was okay, because he took care of me.”

“Like a pet.” That came out very ugly.

“Yeah,” Andy said. It came out on a sigh. “Didn’t realize it at the time, though. He talked about…we were going to save up and then I could go back to school. Stringing me along. Petty and jealous, too. Hated it if I went anywhere without him. I stopped trying, because it was easier than arguing with him about it. He walked me to work. Didn’t even want me working, except we needed the extra income. But he was trying to figure out a way around that.”

“Jesus Christ. Andy.” Jason held out his hand, letting Andy choose if he wanted to take it or not.

“Was with him for six, seven years. Didn’t realize what he was doing. So much for gifted.” Andy scoffed. He stared at Jason’s hand on the table, and wantedto take it, but couldn’t quite make himself move toward it. “Then he slipped up. Got mad enough to forget himself. Hit me.” Andy gestured to the side of his face where he’d been bruised when he’d arrived. “After Dad, I’d sworn—never again. Not ever.” He met Jason’s eyes and let his anger show. “Never.”

“I’m going to dye my hair blue at the earliest opportunity,” Jason said, very serious, “so I don’t remind you of him. No wonder you were so jumpy when you first got here. God, what a horrible thing to go through. I know; my dad…Well, at least he left when I was still little. But I can imagine how strong you’d have to be to face that alone, and to leave. With nothing. We all know, we all saw, how little you had.”

Jason’s sympathy wasn’t helping his need to leave. Andy fiddled with the straw, not drinking. “So you can imagine,” he said, hoarse again, “what went through my mind when I found out that—” Christ, he couldn’t even say the name. It hurt too much. “He’s got a violent streak. Broke that one guy’s arm, at least, maybe more. I can’t…I can’t allow that.”

Jason jerked his hand back, teeth baring up in a sudden grimace. “Who told you about Brad Ripton?”

“Does it matter? I know how people gossip here, but I checked the archives at the newspaper, and it’s right there, black and white.”

“Black and white and not the whole story,” Jason said carefully. “I want you to understand that I’m not angry with you. I’m angry at the situation. You can get up and walk away right now, if you feel you need to. Or I’ll take you to the airport, buy you a ticket, anywhere you want to go. I’d like you to let me explain. Will you listen?”

What the hell kind of explanation could make that all right? But Jason was a good guy, Kat had been a good friend. They deserved to think they’d tried their best. And he was so tired. “I’ll listen.”

“Little history,” Jason said, and it wasn’t mocking or cruel, just repeating Andy’s words. “I can’t even say they were lovers, there was nothing like love there. Brad’s not capable of that, and Scooter still had his…thing for Sharpe. But Brad and Scooter, they fucked, sometimes. Hit the bars. Scooter was wilder, especially after Lorraine passed away. They wingmanned for each other, and if they didn’t have any luck, they’d screw each other. Brad worked for Scooter’s dad. Hurricane tore the whole deck off Dockside. Brad helped replace it.”

Jason cleared his throat. “After…after everything was over, I had to talk Scooter out of tearing up the whole porch. He couldn’t bear standing there, knowing that…I’m getting ahead of myself.