When Pop walked into his office to do some paperwork, I rounded on Buddy.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Aw, come on, bud, don’t be like that,” he said. “A job’s a job, right? And I need this one.”
I shook my head. “You gotta get outta here, man.”
His eyes narrowed and his smile disappeared in an instant. “Look, bud, I don’t think you’re in any position to be telling me what to do,” he said, and he nodded at Pop, coming out of his office. “Just a few shifts a week. No harm, no foul, am I right?” And he walked over to Pop to finalize arrangements.
DANIEL LOOKS stricken at what I’ve told them. Sick. And Rafe is still frozen beside me. He does that sometimes. He told me once that in prison, if you were still while others were moving, you were less likely to get pulled into a fight. It was easier to avoid being seen. To take a time-out until you can decide what to do.
I go into the bathroom and splash some water on my face, trying not to think about how, a month after Buddy beginning his shifts at the shop, I’d found Daniel—younger than I had been when Buddy and I started hooking up—blowing him in the alley.
How Buddy’s dirty hand was heavy on Daniel’s hair, Daniel’s sharp shoulders barely visible behind the bulk of Buddy’s thighs. How red Buddy’s face was or how Daniel’s hands fluttered on his own knees like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch Buddy with anything but his mouth. The sick fury that had unfurled in my gut, blinding me to everything but one imperative: get Buddy the fuck away from my brother.
I brush my teeth twice and force myself to walk slowly back to the kitchen. Rafe’s cleaning up the food and Daniel’s sitting on the floor, his back against the refrigerator, clutching Shelby like she’s a stuffed animal. She’s letting him, but I can tell she’s losing patience quickly.
“You’re about to get scratched,” I tell him.
“Huh?” When he looks up, he’s alarmingly pale and his eyes are unfocused. “Ow, shit!”
“Told you.”
Shelby runs to Rafe and rubs her face against his shins.
“Look, I’m really tired,” I say. “I’m gonna head to bed.”
“Colin….” Daniel stands up and comes toward me, but I look over his shoulder. I can’t see the hurt in his face, even if it is mostly on my behalf. I can’t see the sympathy. The soft, vulnerable look that I know will be there. I can’t be mad at him right now. It’s just too much.
“Your socks don’t match,” I say.
“Huh?” Daniel looks down. “Oh. Shit.” He looks like he’s about to say something, but he changes his mind. “I’ll um—I’ll get out of your hair,” he says finally, walking to the front door. He jams his feet into his boots while standing, nearly losing his balance, and pulls his jacket on. Then he turns to me.
“Um.” He runs his hand through his hair, messing it up. “Thanks. Thanks for agreeing to talk with me. I didn’t… I… thanks. And thank you for dinner,” he says, looking to Rafe. “And for….” He shakes his head. “Anyway. I’ll…. Can I maybe call you sometime?”
For a second I think he’s talking to Rafe and I bristle at the idea. Then I realize he’s looking at me.
“I guess,” I say, and he nods, like that’s more than he was expecting.
He opens the door and shivers.
“Bye, cat,” he says as Shelby sniffs at the fresh air. He blocks her with his foot.
“You all right to get home?” Rafe asks.
“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure,” Daniel says, like he’s confused as to why Rafe would ask.
IN BED, I try to pull Rafe down on top of me, but he resists, kissing me chastely on the cheek. I roll close to him and try to kiss his mouth, but he just grabs me and holds me to him, tucking my head under his chin. When I change tactics and try to reach down to his underwear, he growls and rolls us, pinning me to the bed.
“Please,” he says, holding my shoulders down. “Please don’t. Please.” He’s stroking my hair and my face and my neck, looking down at me.
Screw this. If he doesn’t want me, fine. I roll away from him and bury my face in my pillow. I just want to fall asleep and forget this day ever happened. I wish we were back at the beach house. Wish it was the sound of waves I could hear and not the sounds of traffic. Wish tomorrow I could wake up and have breakfast with Rafe, looking out at the gray ocean instead of dragging myself over to Pop’s to make sure Brian hasn’t gotten scurvy or something from living on only beer and crackers.