Dumpster Fire

CHAPTER 14

"Harvard."

Steve hated the way the word dripped from Billy's lips in the cold, quiet aftermath of his dad's tirade.

It sounded like a lie. A foreign object in soft tissue; painful, swollen, tender. Billy looked just as bad.

Steve wasn't sure what to say. Everything he could think of his dad had growled angrily, slamming his fists into the wall before an eerily collected calm fell over him.

He'd already won.

It didn't matter that he'd caught Billy fucking Hargrove fighting to pull his pants up over his ass on his son's bed. It didn't matter Steve still had cum on his fingers. He had won.

"W-we can still…" Steve turned to Billy, watched him stand. "Billy. We can still-"

"Harvard, Harrington." Billy's voice was resigned. He chuckled but it was shaking. "You'll never get that chance again."

"And we'll never get this again." Steve fell across the bed, clasping Billy's fingers in his hand, desperate to anchor him, them. To solidify their future, their relationship that had felt so solid minutes ago.

"You'd throw it all away for me?" Billy turned his face away but Steve could see the glisten of tears.

"Billy." Steve inhaled, tightened his grip. "I love you."

Billy shuddered, pulled away and finished fastening his pants. "I gotta…" he ran a hand through his hair, a tongue over his bottom lip. "I gotta think, Harrington."

And Steve's heart seized. No. But he nodded, sitting back, following Billy to the door. "Saturday?" He hated how small he felt, sounded.

"Yeah." Billy grinned. It didn't reach his eyes. "Saturday."

Billy left the bedroom door open as he left, catching Mr. Harrington's smug sneer down the hall. Faint in the remnant wash of Steve's bedroom light. Billy held his gaze for a moment; a silent understanding that made the elder man's chest puff, fingers tightened.

Billy wouldn't ever be returning to this house. 

He wasn't aware he'd been holding his breath until he reached the first floor, frozen in shock to see Mrs. Harrington sitting on the couch, old tear trails down her cheeks, mascara plastered under her eyes, knees drawn up to her chest.

She was beautiful. Billy thought. Not like Susan. She was manicured, pampered. Her hair colored and shiny, her nails painted and even. Billy noted that her toes matched her fingers.

But she was worn in the same way Susan was. Makeup didn't hide that she was weary in her bones. Jewelry didn't hide the anxiety lines around her mouth, eyes, and forehead.

She looked at Billy, stifling a sob and darting her gaze away as Billy's own eyes grew misty again. Her presence felt thin, fragile. A shadow in the presence of a man like Steve's dad.

A man like Neil.

"I'm-" Billy stuttered, knowing the man of the house could hear him from his perch upstairs. "I'm sorry you found out." Billy took a tentative step forward. "This way, I mean."

"Found out what?" She turned further away, so her back was to Billy, sniffing audibly, wiping at her face.

"That-that Steve and I-" Billy hesitated

"I'm sure I don't understand what you mean." Hands clasped in her lap, shoulders trembled. "Steve usually has friends over." She inhaled. "Ridiculous."

Billy felt his blood run cold. "Right." He moved back to the front door, not sure why he was expecting anything different. Maybe because she was like Susan. Maybe because he pitied her.