“…On one wall are these rickety shelves full of old jars of crap his grandma canned. Those jars and that stupid wooden box of his old love letters…” (Mason jars of soggy, bleached vegetables were ubiquitous in Oklahoma storm shelters. They often bore hand-written labels to aid identification of the greenish-gray blobs inside.)
“…There’s a cot with a saggy, stained mattress. He makes me undress and lie down on it with him.”
Colton’s interest was piqued. “That box William brought with him to our meeting?”
“Yeah,” Matt said absently, as if the box was unimportant when, in reality, it was the bait.
“The box of fucking letters I asked you about in December?” Colton spluttered.
Matt shrugged, as if the box of letters were the least of his worries. He resumed complaining about the cot. “I think someone died on that smelly mattress. The first thing I do when I get back to campus after being there, is take a long shower.”
“Where is this farm?” Colton’s voice was urgent. He wasn’t yawning now.
Matt scrunched his face as if trying to remember. “It’s about 20 minutes from here.” (That much was true.)
“Do you know how to get there?” Colton asked. “To the farm?”
Matt nodded grimly.
“Let’s go now,” Colton said.
“Why? I told you there’s nothing there but that storm shelter.”
“And the box, you idiot,” said Colton. “I want those letters.”
Matt paused, as if pondering the concept that Colton would have any interest in that box. Not understanding the box’s importance was exactly what one would expect from a dumb jock like him.
“Here’s the thing,” Matt said, finally. “I’m having trouble seeing how that box is my problem. I didn’t write any of those fairy letters. Helping you get yours back doesn’t solve my problem of getting William out of my life.”
Colton glared at Matt. “Let’s get something straight: I didn’t write any fairy letters. I was joking when I wrote that stuff, but that nutcase took it the wrong way.”
“‘Nutcase’ is right,” Matt said of William, which was true. Only a crazy person would fall in love with a psychopath like Colton. Only a crazy person would still be wearing Colton’s promise ring on a chain aroundhis neck three years later. Factor in the two conditions William had set as the price for his reluctant cooperation with Colton’s take-down, and CRAZY might be an understatement.
Lastly, was William’s apparent intention to accept Matt’s post-dated resignation from the GM. Not so much crazy as heartbreakingly sad. William blamed Matt for having told Molly about the clubhouse in the first place, which had violated a fundamental rule against disclosing GM secrets. The guy could look past all of Colton’s failings but could not forgive Matt for a single unforced error.
“Try this,” Colton said. “Drive me to that farm. We’ll take the box. I’ll remove any letters or cards from me. There are other—real fairy letters in there, right? From other guys?”
Matt nodded.
Colton smiled. “Good. I’ll take the box with those fairy letters and give it to the dean. I’ll make up some story that I got it from a student who is being sexually harassed by William but who wants to remain anonymous.”
“Do you think that will work?” Matt asked. Of course it would work. Adam had been kicked out with nothing more than Colton’s accusation against him.
“The dean trusts me. We’ve worked together on other fairy cases. This will be enough to get William expelled and out of our lives.”
Matt grinned as if this were the best news he’d heard in a long time. Inside he was seething.
“Can we go now? To the farm?” Colton asked.
Matt shook his head. “We wouldn’t be back in time for curfew. Besides, we’ll need bolt cutters to get the padlock off the storm shelter.”
“I’ll get some bolt cutters tomorrow morning. Let’s meet up after chapel,” Colton said.
“Tomorrow’s not so good either,” Matt said.
Colton crossed his arms. “Are we retrieving that box or not?”
“We will,” Matt said. “This campus needs to be William-free.”
