He really didn’t hang out or talk to or do anything with anyone other than Preston. Any attempts to go to a coffee shop or bar to meet with some of the guys from work—who seemed to mostly make those invitations out of sheer boredom and loneliness but hey, a beer was a beer—were met with scathingremarks from Preston about how those guys weren’t his friends and how they probably would want Cal to pay for said drinks.
Preston seemed to have very convincing arguments against any outing that did not involve him—that Cal should just stay in the apartment and wait for Preston to come home. Then they could open a bottle of wine together!
It had taken him until the concussion to realize that while Preston paid for everything, did the cooking, paid for a weekly cleaning lady, and gladly ordered Cal whatever he wanted from Amazon, the actual price for all of this had been taken out of Cal’s skin and sinew. Maybe even his soul.
Preston had never actually made any payments toward Cal’s student loan. That was fine because it turned out that Cal’s job paid enough to make those payments, and he didn’t have far to go.
The clatter at the door made Cal’s whole body freeze, his shields going up as Preston sang out in his bestLeave it to BeaverDad voice, “Honey, I’m home!”
Nobody should live like this.Heshouldn’t have to live like this.
He sat up, terrified that Preston would find him in bed, and see the melted pea juice staining the pillowcase, and freak out. The pillowcase was valuable and had rights, more rights than Cal.
Cal had been an idiot, blinded by Preston’s generosity and the chance to live the high life a little, not counting the cost for the next party sized bag of potato chips. Or worrying about the holes in his shoes or where the rent money was going to come from.
There was no one to talk to about it, but he knew he didn’t really need to. He knew he had to leave. The only question was how.These things must be done delicately,said a voice in hishead, sounding rather a lot like the Wicked Witch inThe Wizard of Oz.
When Preston once again encouraged Cal to hack into people’s home computers—Just a dozen or so—and get their bank information and skim off the top, Cal had said,Sure, let me do some research first. Which he had. He’d researched how to do it. How to get away with it. Anything for Preston, right?
Preston would never doubt that Cal was doing it for Preston, because Cal never said no to Preston. By the time Preston figured out the truth of it, it would be too late.
On the periphery of his research, he’d looked up the likely sentences for the various levels of hacking crimes.
But he hadn’t paid attention to that, no he had not. Because he wasn’t going to get himself arrested on purpose. That would be as stupid as staying with Preston, and he wasn’t stupid.
So he told Preston he was going to hack into Mr. Simms’ computer the next time he called IT for help. He’d start with one hack before trying out more, and then the money would roll in.
Why they needed money when Cal was almost done paying off his student loans and Preston had plenty of money from his web designer job—alotof money, really—he did not know. But daring to ask the question would get him another concussion or at the very least a green-stick fracture—though he might have already gotten one of those the year before when they’d been playingStar TrekMonopoly and Cal had just been reaching for the playing piece in the shape of the captain’s chair.
Preston, who’d been reaching for the communicator piece, as he usually did, had suddenly grabbed Cal by the forearm and squeezed. Squeezedhard. And said,That’s mine.
Cal’s arm had ached for days until finally he’d gone into the student clinic. He’d paid in cash so Preston wouldn’t know. The nurse, ignoring the bruises on Cal’s neck, had told him that these things happen and that he’d be better in a few weeks. Sheshowed him how to wrap his forearm, and Cal had worn long-sleeved t-shirts to hide the wrapping.
Preston either hadn’t noticed the wrapping or had noticed and didn’t care. Either was possible. Sometimes Cal’s forearm ached these days. Mostly it didn’t.
But that was then, and this was now.
Chapter 2
Cal
As Cal stood in the small cement courtyard of Wyoming Correctional, Cal had been just about to get in the prison van. The van would transport him to Farthingdale Valley and the supposed Mecca of the Farthingdale Valley Fresh Start Program.
Except before Cal could even move in the direction of the van, Preston rolled up in his white, two-door BMW, screeched on the brakes, and leaped out.
“Hey, where are you going?” asked Preston as he strode over, key fob in his fist. His blonde curls danced in the Wyoming wind, and his beautiful blue eyes blazed. “You told me you’d be out by noon, and here it is noon-o-one, and I’m here to take you home with me.”
Cal had talked to Preston the night before during his phone time.
He’d told Preston that he’d be released around noon and that processing would take until after lunch. That is, he’d given Preston a believable time frame, and had prayed to the gods that processing, which actually started at ten, would be done by eleven and that he, Cal, would be long gone by the time Preston arrived.
Unfortunately, the gods were not smiling now. The processing had taken longer than expected, even though Cal was the only prisoner being released or transported that day, so he was still there when Preston arrived.
There was only the guard at the door, the guard who had just signed the last bit of paperwork to turn Cal over to the driver of the van to the valley. Which meant there were only two men to witness Preston hugging Cal.
From where the guard and the driver stood, it probably looked like just a hug, not a hard grip of both of Cal’s biceps, the grab to his neck after that, and the punishing kiss.
As the bruises soaked into his skin, Cal took it all and smiled at the wild, angry look in Preston’s blue eyes, and pretended all was well.
