Chapter 98
Stacy rolled down his window and heard a dog bark into the night. “We’re almost there,” James said.
Stacy gave the boy a tight grin, then glanced over at Darian only to find his boss staring back.
Before long they turned into a short, gravel drive that stopped in front of dark bushes bathed in shadow. The porch light illuminated a small stoop leading to a screen door. From what Stacy could see of the house, it was small but neat, the wooden siding freshly painted some pale color like white or ecru, and dark green shutters framed the windows. A second story rose up into the darkness—no siding there, just a light stucco that loomed almost ghost-like in the night. River stones lined the driveway and edged along the bushes, almost out of sight.
Stepping down from the truck, Stacy held the door James and stared up through the branches of a lone dogwood in Darian’s front yard. Thank you,he thought, a silent prayer directed at the stars above. He took a deep breath and held it, trapping the night inside, until a wave of dizziness washed over him. It had been a long day. The thought of a soft bed, even if it wasn’t Darian’s, made him realize just how exhausted he was.
Darian led the way to the front door, then held it open while James and Stacy trouped inside. “Why don’t you show Stacy around?”
As tired as he was, James didn’t have to be asked twice—he took off down the hall, shouting for Stacy to follow him. But Stacy, finding himself alone with Darian for the first time all evening, hesitated.
With a faint smile, Darian shut the door and leaned back against it as the lock clicked home. “So,” he murmured, his usually loud voice suddenly intimate. “Here we are. I don’t usually invite guys back to my place before the third date, but I figure I know you well enough by now…”
Stacy laughed. “I’ll try to keep my hands to myself,” he joked.
Darian’s smile didn’t light up his eyes. “All kidding aside—”
From the depths of the house, James bellowed, “Stacy!”
Ignore him,a voice inside of Stacy pleaded. He watched Darian struggle with whatever it was he wanted to say and he wanted to goad him on, tell me, please. He wanted to hear it, whatever itwas, because he thought it might lead a bit further than they’ve ever gone before. He neededto hear it, to hear the words he didn’t dare imagine finally spoken in Darian’s deep voice, to know that he wasn’t alone anymore, to know that Darian felt everything hefelt and more. Please,he prayed. Tell me already.
But when James called his name again, Darian just nodded down the hall. “Go on, see what he wants.” When Stacy didn’t move, he added, “I knew he’d like you as much as I do.”
At least that was something, no matter how small an admission. Stacy ducked his head so Darian wouldn’t see the stupid grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Because he didn’t trust himself to speak, he turned without a word and hurried in the direction James had taken, but he felt Darian’s gaze chase him the whole way.
* * * *
James waited for Stacy at the top of the stairs. “About time,” he muttered as Stacy climbed up the steps to the second floor. The minute Stacy’s foot cleared the top step, James pointed at the closed door behind him. “This is my dad’s room. Mine’s right here.” He flung himself at the door beside Darian’s and pushed his way into a bedroom obviously decorated with a sporty little boy in mind. Framed posters of baseball players hung on the walls, Sammy Sosa and Mickey Mantle and Yogi Bera. The bed sheets were covered with footballs and basketballs and hockey pucks, and above the dirty clothes hamper hung a basketball hoop, a pile of balled up clothes beneath it. Little League trophies lined a shelf above the bed—when James saw Stacy notice them, he admitted, “Those are just a few of the ones I have. You should see my room at home. Most of my stuff’s there.”
A dull ache rose in Stacy. Why couldn’t his bedroom have looked like this when he was little? Because his mother had been too busy working to keep food on the table to pamper him. Maybe if she had spent a few more hours every day talking to him instead of talking athim, maybe his life wouldn’t be as fucked up as it was now. Maybe if he’dhad posters on his walls, or a pillow shaped like a basketball on his bed, or a hand-carved baseball bat with his name etched into it hanging as a coat-rack on the door to his closet door, maybe then he would’ve stayed in school and not screwed around so much growing up. Maybe he would’ve stuck with baseball, who knew? Maybe he would’ve never gotten involved with Lamar in the first place…
Or met Darian. That quashed the jealousy a bit. He even managed a sad smile when James did a somersault on his twin-size bed. “You can stay here tonight,” the kid offered. He tried a handstand and settled for looking at Stacy upside down between his scrawny legs instead.