When he opened the door, Orlando was standing there. The January air—no, February, it was February now—stung Theo’s bare chest and legs. He adjusted the blanket. Orlando was wearing a coat and heavy gloves. His hands opened and closed, and the boards squeaked as he shifted his weight.
“If you’re going to deck me, deck me. If not, I’m freezing my balls off.”
“Stay away from my family.”
“Fine.”
“And tell Augs too. I don’t want to see either of you around my family ever again.” Orlando’s thick eyebrows drew together; he looked on the verge of crying. “Just stay the fuck away!”
“Is that all?”
“Wayne admitted to the kickbacks. His whole life is ruined, thanks a lot. And it’s my fault.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s his fault. Your family is just going to treat you like shit because it makes the rest of them feel better.”
“I shouldn’t have ever asked you and Augs to help. I never should have done that. I’m so fucking stupid.”
The wind whistled through the open door. Theo’s face was freezing by inches. He angled his body and said, “Why don’t you come in?”
“No.”
“I think you need to talk to someone.”
“No!”
They stood there, Theo’s skin pebbling, Orlando huffing. His breath was still steaming, whipping around him in the wind. On the other side of the road, something small and brown moved through the weeds. A vole, Theo thought. He had the sudden urge to find the .22 downstairs and shoot it.
“He didn’t do anything to Cal. He turned over his cell phone records. He was at the basketball expo that whole weekend. He never left the hotel. Same with Nia getting shot. He was out of town. So it’s over. I wanted you to know that: it’s done.”
“Ok. Like you said, it’s done. But you’re not the one who needs to carry this around, Orlando. You don’t need to feel bad for what happened.”
Orlando’s face screwed up. He shook his head.
“Come on,” Theo said, “just come inside for a minute.”
When he touched Orlando’s shoulder, Orlando punched him. It wasn’t much of a punch, just enough to split Theo’s lip. He caught the blood with the back of his hand.
“Fuck you,” Orlando said. He ran down the stairs, climbed into a slate-gray BMW, and pulled away. The tires slewed at the turn. For a moment, it looked like he’d go off the road. Then, somehow, he recovered, and the car roared out of sight.
Theo was in the bathroom, trying to stop the bleeding with a gauze pad, when he heard the back door open. The sound of heavy boots came across the kitchen. In the mirror, Cart was a backwards version of himself. It was more noticeable with the uniform, the badge and gun, everything reversed.
“Good. Somebody already got things started. I was worried I was going to have to beat some fucking sense into your white-trash brain all by myself.”
After a quick glance at the blood-soaked gauze, Theo tossed it in the trash and grabbed a clean pad.
“Give me that.” Cart grabbed his hair, turning him, and snatched the gauze.
“Ow,” Theo said mildly, tossing his head to try to loosen Cart’s grip.
If anything, Cart pulled harder. His fingers clamped the gauze down around Theo’s lip. “What the fuck do you know about getting hurt? What the fuck do you know about anything?” He yanked on Theo’s hair again. “You stupid redneck motherfucker. I don’t even know you. Do you realize that? I have no idea who you are. Are you just some pencil-dicked pillbilly so desperate for cash that you’ll break into somebody’s house to pay for your next fix?”
With the gauze in his mouth, Theo couldn’t answer.
“Don’t you dare lie to me,” Cart said. “Don’t spin me horseshit about how you’re not using anymore. I am a stupid son of a bitch, but I am not that stupid, and I’m tired of you treating me like I am.” On the last word, Cart released Theo’s hair. He peeled the gauze away with surprising gentleness, and only a few red spots marked it.
“I wasn’t there to steal anything.”
“Jesus Christ, that’s great fucking news. So you broke into that house for shits and giggles with your boy toy?”
“Don’t call him that.”
Cart’s hand cracked against Theo’s bare chest. The slap only stung for an instant, and then the sensation was of tremendous heat. Theo glanced down, unable to believe what had just happened. When he looked up, Cart was crying.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Cart said. “What the fuck is going on? Do you know what the last two days have been like for me? I couldn’t see you, couldn’t talk to you, couldn’t think straight. Had no idea how bad things might be. Do you know the kind of hell that is?”
“You could have come seen me. You could have answered your phone. Instead, you hid behind a lawyer.”
Cart’s breathing deepened. His gaze moved to Theo’s chest.
Theo followed his eyes. The handprint was red, its shape clear against Theo’s pale skin.
“I’m sorry,” Theo said, part of him wondering why he was the one who said it.
Cart undid his belt and holster, lowered the gear to the tiles, and unbuttoned his trousers. “Get on the floor.”
Theo crossed his arms. In his boxers, though, it was impossible to hide that he was hard.
Grabbing a handful of Theo’s hair, Cart half-pulled, half-shoved him down. “Was there something you didn’t understand?” He released Theo long enough to force his trousers and boxers below his knees. Then he got behind Theo, bearing him down so that Theo knelt over the tub. Theo’s heart beat so loudly that he couldn’t hear anything. Cotton ripped, and his boxers fell away. He flinched when something cold and wet ran between his cheeks.
It was over for both of them before Theo really knew what was happening. He came against the side of the tub, Cart’s hand hard and tight around him, and a few minutes later Cart grunted and finished. They stayed there, Cart draped over him, their breathing out of time. Then Theo felt something hot on the back of his neck. Tears. And Cart’s mouth pressing a kiss there.
“I’m sorry,” Cart whispered. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
The aches in his hands, in his whole body, were awake again under the blanket of Percocet. Theo rested his head on his arms, the tub cold where his cheek touched it. At least I felt something, he thought. At least this time I felt something.
19
Weeks passed. And weeks turned into months. By March, winter had grudgingly given way to a wet, cold spring. When spring break came, Auggie was glad to go home. When break ended, he was even gladder to go back.
Nothing had changed at home. Nothing had changed at school. He was doing fine in his classes. He was building his presence on social media, strengthening his brand, experimenting with content. It didn’t matter; after news leaked of his break-in at the Reeses’ home, nobody would touch him. No more phone calls from prospective agents or managers. No more talk of deals. On bad days, he read about gay guys on social media who were getting huge marketing and advertising deals for makeup, hair products, diet supplements. Unless Auggie learned how to apply eyeliner and master contouring, though, it seemed he was out of luck. Nobody was interested in a gay boy who made silly videos and was a part-time criminal. Straight boys, on the other hand, were doing just fine. Devin and Logan, his buddies from home, had started their own account without even bothering to tell Auggie. They’d each gotten five figure deals—Auggie’s ex, Chan, had been happy to share that information on his Facebook wall.