Trailer Trash(89)

Nobody bothered to ask him if he’d actually had sex with Cody, or if Cody could possibly be infected. No. In a town as small as Warren, there were no secrets. One of the nurses or the receptionists had undoubtedly recognized Cody. Maybe she even had a son or daughter at Walter Warren High School. Somehow, she knew the rumors, and rumors were all it took to make those telltale rubber gloves come out.

Rumors were all it took to make his dad sit on the other side of the room, his jaw clenched tight.

In the end, they told him nothing was broken. They prescribed some mild painkillers, bed rest, and plenty of fluids, and gave his father a list of things to watch for in the coming days, then sent them home.

Nate sat in the passenger seat, an ice pack from the ER over one eye even though it was already swollen most of the way shut. His dad had a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. Nate didn’t think he’d ever seen him so mad.

“There was never a girl, was there?”

Nate closed his one good eye and leaned his head against the passenger window. “No.”

“You told me you were in love.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not! Whatever this is—”

“I know what I feel, Dad.”

“You and Cody—” His words ended in a strangled choking sound.

Nate felt like he should apologize, but for what? For loving Cody? He wouldn’t apologize for that. “I know you’re disappointed. I know you’re probably surprised. I was too, but—”

“Do you realize the risk you’re taking? You could catch AIDS!”

“Not from Cody.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Dad.” He had to force the words past gritted teeth. “One of us would’ve had to have had sex with somebody else in order to catch it. Somebody who already had it. Somebody other than each other—”

“Shut up!”

Nate turned to look at his dad, stunned at the venom in his voice. “We don’t even do what you’re thinking about, and even if we did—”

“I said shut up! I don’t want to hear about the sick things you do! I can’t even look at you right now. I can’t—” He shook his head. “We’ll talk about it later. Once I’ve had a chance to talk to your mother. To calm down a bit. I don’t know.”

Nate was surprised his dad’s rejection didn’t hurt more. He felt like maybe he should cry, but he was out of tears, his heart a cold, hard lump inside his chest. It was just as well, anyway. Bad enough that his dad knew about Cody. Best not to have him think Nate a pansy too.

He went to his room as soon as they got home and stayed there, curled on his bed, listening to his dad’s voice rise and fall as he talked on the phone. He wanted to talk to Cody, but there was no way that could happen. Not yet, at any rate.

He eventually fell asleep. He awoke in the darkness and slowly got to his feet.

He hurt even worse than he had before.

He surveyed the damage to his face in the bathroom mirror. His left eye was swollen shut, the other a livid shade of purple. His upper lip was split and swollen. Bruises stained his face from his forehead to his jaw. His rib cage hurt like crazy. Trying to pee brought tears to his eyes, and seeing the blood in the toilet was scary, even though the doctors had told him it might happen.

He changed into clean sweats and a T-shirt and peeked out his bedroom door. The house was dark and silent. His dad was in bed.

He snuck downstairs. It was two o’clock in the morning, but who knew when he’d have another chance? He took the phone off the cradle and crept into the pantry, closing the door behind himself. His heart pounded as he dialed Cody’s number. It was entirely possible Cody’s mom would answer. It was possible she’d yell at him for waking her up, or for getting her son in trouble, but he had to talk to Cody.

Cody picked up before the second ring. He didn’t even say hello. Just, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m peeing blood, I can’t see out of one eye, it hurts to breathe, and my dad isn’t talking to me.” That about covered it. “How about you?”

“I’m fine.”

“Now you’re the one who’s lying.”

Cody made a sound that might have been a laugh. “My mom’s actually being pretty awesome about the whole thing, but I feel like shit. This was all my fault—”

“Don’t be stupid. It wasn’t your fault. We just weren’t thinking—”

“If I had fought harder—”

“You did the best you could.”

“It wasn’t enough.”