"I heard rumors you were leaving," McAuley said.
Augustus closed the passenger door and crossed his arms, not saying anything. He didn't owe him an explanation. The funny thing was that a few months ago, he would have explained himself. He would've felt like he had to, to avoid trouble. But Quentin had changed that. He had made Augustus see he was worth more.
"Do you have permission from your parole officer to leave the state?"
Augustus scoffed. "Haven't had a p-p-parole officer in f-fifteen years. I can g-go wherever the h-h-hell I w-want. There ain't a d-d-damn thing you can do to st-st-stop me."
"You still owe people money."
Augustus balled his fists, and maybe the sheriff noticed because he retreated a few steps. "No, I d-don't. I never owed them m-m-money. From the d-day of the s-sentencing, it was cl-cl-clear that my f-f-father had st-stolen the money, not m-m-me. Even the judge ackn-n-nowledged it. You all kn-knew. You knew it wasn't m-m-me. You knew he had t-t-taken the money and had g-gambled it all away. And still you let me p-p-pay all those years. You made me f-feel like I o-owed you, like I was in your d-d-debt. But I w-wasn't."
He couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. He was still stuttering, and yet it felt different. He'd been silent for so long it was a relief to finally speak the truth.
"And you should be ash-sh-shamed of yourself. You were sh-sheriff when I got conv-v-victed, and you never did a d-damn thing to st-st-stand up for me. Hell, even b-back in high sch-sch-school, you knew I was b-being b-b-bullied. You knew all th-these years how p-people tr-tr-treated me, and you a-also knew I hadn't done a d-d-damn thing to des-s-serve it. Shame on you, Sh-sh-sheriff. Shame on you for ch-choosing the side of the b-bullies, of the b-b-bad guys. You were supp-p-posed to stand up for m-me."
McCauley had paled under his verbal attack, and Augustus wasn't sure if it was because of the content of his words or because he even said them in the first place. No matter how haltingly they came out, it was the longest speech he'd ever given in his life, and every word slashed like a knife.
Augustus took a deep breath. "So yes, I am l-l-leaving. And you can all go f-f-fuck yours-s-self."
He nodded, more than satisfied with his parting words. His hand was on the doorknob when Macauley spoke up.
"Mac… I'm…" He took off his hat, scratched his head, then put it back on. "Drive safely," he finally said, his voice softer and kinder than Augustus had ever heard him. "It's a long drive to California."
Augustus considered thanking him, if only out of politeness, then decided that he really didn't feel like being polite. So he merely nodded and said, “My name is Aug-g-gustus, not M-mac."
He drove off, never looking back, and with every mile he drove, his heart grew lighter.
I'm on my way, baby. I'm on my way.
But first, he had a little detour to make.
31
Quentin had just gotten back from a meeting with his professor and plopped down in front of the TV to relax a bit. He’d worked hard the last week to come up with a different research project proposal, and today, Professor Danson had given his approval. Now all he had to do was wait if the committee would reward him a grant a second time.
God, he was tired. It had been long days filled with frantic research, then writing and revising his proposal, only to revise it ten more times so Professor Danson was satisfied. The man was ten steps beyond being a perfectionist, but at least his anal attention to detail guaranteed it was the best proposal possible on such short notice.
He checked his watch, then calculated the time difference with New York. It was four o’clock there. One more hour and he could call Augustus. Hearing his voice was such a double-edged sword. He missed him so much it physically hurt, and talking to him helped, especially when they did a video call. But those had only happened the first few days after he’d arrived in California, including one incredibly hot session where they had spent a good two hours edging themselves before they’d both come.
Augustus had said he had Internet issues, however, and that his cell signal wasn’t strong enough to do video calls. So they’d talked every day, and Quentin always felt better when he heard his voice, but then felt like utter crap afterward. Two more years of this? He wasn’t sure if he was strong enough for it.
As much as he loved being back in California because of the weather—and hanging out with Noel again, who had found himself a boyfriend through some kind of dating app called valentine’s Inc—it wasn’t the same as before. Leaving Mac had left a hole, and it hurt.
He was mindlessly flipping through the channels when there was a loud knock on the door. God, he hoped it wasn't one of the neighbors again. As much as he appreciated how tight-knit the trailer park was he had grown up in, it was a little bothersome to have neighbors asking for help all the time. And since his mom was still at work, he’d have to handle it.
Then again, he couldn't really complain, considering his mother had taken him back in. He’d expected to be in New York a few months longer and hadn’t arranged for alternative housing. The drive to the university was longer than he would’ve liked, but he’d take it. She hadn’t even wanted him to pay rent. And he had to be honest, with how crappy he felt, being with her helped. She hadn’t said much, but she understood.
With a tired sigh, he opened the door. It was the kid from next door who was nine but sounded like he was an adult. "What's up, Cody?” Quentin said.
"Quentin, I think you had better come outside," Cody said in his adorable adult-like tone.
Quentin frowned. "Is something wrong?"
Cody shook his head. "No, but there's a man here, and he's asking for you."
Quentin put on his flip-flops. God bless California in the winter. “A man? What man?"
Cody leaned in a little. "I've never seen him before, but he looks mean. He has tattoos and piercings."
The door closed behind them with a louder smack than Quentin had intended. His heart skipped a beat. It couldn't be. It was impossible, wasn't it? He had talked to him yesterday.
"Where is he?"
Cody pointed toward the entrance of the park, and Quentin could just make out the shape of a big pickup truck and gigantic U-Haul trailer. "And, Quentin, I don't mean to be rude, but he stutters really bad."
Quentin had started running before Cody had even finished his sentence. His heart leaped with joy, beating as fast as his feet slapped the ground. Augustus stood next to his truck, head bowed, his hands jammed into his pockets, and he looked all kinds of menacing. Funny how Quentin now recognized it as nerves, whereas before, he would've said he was angry, aloof, maybe even arrogant.
Then Augustus raised his head, and his expression changed completely, the biggest smile he’d ever seen crossing over his face. All Quentin saw was Augustus. He was here. How was that even possible?
Quentin didn't care who was watching and launched himself at Augustus. His man caught him effortlessly in his strong arms, holding him so tight against his chest that he could barely breathe. Quentin’s feet dangled an inch above the ground, and he wrapped his arms around Augustus’s neck, taking in his smell.