Touching Down(3)

At least with Cruz, I knew I was safe from the judgment. Safe because he’d been a lightning rod for it, growing up as one of the few openly gay kids in The Clink. Being one of the only out-of-the-closet gay boys living in a neighborhood where testosterone and overt male bravado ruled the streets hadn’t been easy for him. He’d survived it though, his humor and ability to laugh at himself his saving grace.

“Lucky for you, I’m one of those people who’s okay with forgiving and forgetting. Even when a good friend bails without so much as a good-bye or an occasional call to let her worried-sick friends know she’s okay.” Cruz’s brow carved higher into his forehead. “But I know someone who isn’t so into the forgive-and-forget philosophy.”

My gaze followed Cruz’s into the living room, where it was impossible to miss Grant’s imposing frame. His back was still to me, almost like he was acutely aware of where I was and determined to keep his back pointed my way.

My shoulders fell. Once upon a time, we’d been each other’s everything, and now, I felt as though we had nothing left of what had been so grand and beautiful. “He was really angry with me, wasn’t he?”

“Oh, cupcake, angry is for guys who wear polo shirts and walk miniature doggies. Angry is not for the likes of Grant Turner.”

Cruz and I exchanged a look. The realm of average human emotion had never been quite appropriate for Grant Turner. From the time he’d moved to The Clink with his dad all of those years ago, I’d known that. There’d been an intensity about him, a spirit that wound deeper into his core than most.

“So you’re saying he was really angry after I left?”

Cruz smiled tightly, patting my arm a few times. “He was the human equivalent of Chernobyl. How about we leave it at that because that’s as fitting of a metaphor as I’m capable of right now?”

My heart ached as I imagined the pain I’d caused him—for the one-millionth goddamn time. “That was forever ago. He’s moved past it, I’m sure.”

“Sure, sure,” Cruz agreed, waving in Grant’s direction. “Just look how at moved on past it he is.”

My eyes stung from watching how Grant seemed to prefer the company of everyone besides me. It felt like yesterday when the opposite had been true. I wouldn’t cry though, no matter how badly my eyes burned. I’d dried myself out years ago.

“I never meant to hurt him,” I whispered. “I never meant to hurt any of you.”

Cruz wound his arm through mine again. “I know that. Aunt May knew that. Hell, even Grant knew that.” Cruz paused, his face turning toward mine. “But that doesn’t mean you didn’t hurt us.”

My body leaned into his, almost like I needed his support because I was unable to stay upright on my own. It was odd the way our roles had shifted. Back then, it had been Grant and me who Cruz leaned on for support, and now, I was leaning on him.

“I’m sorry.” My words came out louder than I’d intended, drawing the attention of a few people close by.

If Cruz noticed my louder-than-needed apology, he didn’t show it. “Apology accepted.” His arm wound around my back when my head dropped to his shoulder.

“Do you think apologizing to Grant will be that easy?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

“Has anything been easy where Grant Turner and you are concerned?”

I didn’t have to give that a moment’s consideration. “No. Nothing ever has been.”

It never would be either.





THE STARS DIDN’T use to shine in The Clink, but tonight, a few were popping through the haze of the city lights to blink down at me in Aunt May’s backyard, stretched out on the grass she’d taken such care to foster. My first time feeling grass between my bare toes had been on this lawn.

Living things, such as grass and flowers, hadn’t been a part of my world until Aunt May entered it because people who didn’t feel alive had no interest in keeping something else alive. Whether that be a house plant or a human being.

My eyes fought the urge to skip back to the looming apartment complex hovering a few blocks over. The Towers Apartment Complex was where I’d been conceived, where I’d been brought home from the hospital, and where I was expected to die if statistics had anything to do with it.

Thankfully, I’d given my middle finger to statistics.

After excusing myself from Cruz for some fresh air, the first thing my eyes had been drawn to when I stepped onto Aunt May’s back porch was the giant concrete structure to the left. Almost as if something inside me was trained to find it, aware that some part of me still belonged there.