Home is a Four Letter Word

chapter fifty

The Night After the Fourth of July

The truck keys shook in Jake's hand as he walked up the makeshift sidewalk to Connor's front door—trapping the overgrown grass that filled the cracks underneath each step that he knew he was taking, but couldn't quite feel. He clenched them as tightly as he could in his hand, the teeth of his lonely house key cutting into his palm with a sharp sensation that he welcomed like a bite of reality. The moment he got home, his truck would no longer be his. He was reminded of that as soon as his father stormed in the door that afternoon, heavily set on determining a punishment that would only come close to the demasculinized embarrassment he felt about his son in that given moment. Jake didn't have to argue about how unfair it was. He was lucky enough that he walked away with all his bones in place and every limb attached. There were only two scars left on Jake's body from the extent of his father's rage in the past, but he had half expected him to add another today.

When Aaron had driven him out to get his truck where it sat on the side of the road thirty minutes ago, Jake contemplated climbing inside it and never coming back. He didn't have any of his things—including the phone his mother took from him as soon as they got into the car that morning—but he was willing to run with just the clothes off his back if it meant a moment of peace. He made a plan.

Connor's plan. The pet-friendly motel room in the city, making the continental breakfast last more than one meal until he could move into his dorm room in the fall. Checking the balance of his bank account was more than enough to humble him back to square one. It was a contingency plan that was fantastical, but never really possible. He knew that all along. Humoring Connor when he suggested it was setting him up for failure.

He failed thinking he could have any of this. Every minute with Connor—every midnight conversation, every stolen kiss in the passenger seat of his truck, every sarcastic 'fuck off' followed by a warm, loving 'sunshine'—was operating on stolen time. Jake had to repay it now and he didn't have the currency to do so. He was a fool to think he wouldn't get caught.

You stupid fucking idiot. You dug yourself the grave, now go lay in it.

The sun had gone down an hour ago, and with it faded all of the survival energy that Jake had been feeding off of all day long. He felt like collapsing on the stairs; his legs physically weakened with every task he had completed in the day, leaving the last of them all as the worst strain he could possibly face. The deep breath he took was an attempt to regain his strength, but even that seemed tedious as he had been reminding himself to breathe all day long. Keeping himself alive through the bare-minimum had proven to be more difficult than he thought.

As he knocked on the door, his stomach ate him alive. Whether from malnutrition or anxiety, Jake couldn't tell. The undisguisable urge to vomit had never felt so strong. He tried his best to swallow it down as he saw a shadow walk across the living room through the blinds of the window, illuminated only by the faint hallway light. Jake knew that meant Connor had to have been home alone. He was a hermit when he was on his own—enjoying the shadows like a creepy little comfort cave that kept him warm at night. Fading away into the shadows was exactly what Jake needed right now—hell, needed forever. He had had enough of the spotlight for one day to know that he never wanted to be in it again.

When Connor opened the door, he was wearing nothing but a pair of gray gym shorts that Jake knew had never been used for anything but sleeping in. He had so obviously just gotten out of the shower and threw on whatever was closest. His face was dripping with the strands of wet hair that stuck to his forehead, finding their way down to his mouth where he licked one of them off his top lip. In any other state, Jake might have stopped for a second to look over Connor while trying to think of something flirty to note about his appearance, but at the moment any feeling other than fear and discomfort was growing increasingly hard to place.