“YOU CALLED MITCH?!” Ty screams, his angry voice traveling from down a hallway, bouncing off the lime-green walls of reception. Mitch winces, his eyes spilling over with concern.
“Sergeant Lincoln’ll be with you shortly,” the receptionist drawls before she goes back to tap tap tapping at her computer. “Take a seat,” she nods indifferently at some black plastic chairs across from her without looking up. A loud crash sounds from somewhere, metal against metal, and now I’m the one who’s two seconds from freaking out.
“Look…” My gaze finds her nametag, “Gwen,” I offer her my most convincing smile. “If we could just go to him, I know he’ll settle down.” I drum my fingers agitatedly against the desk, and it’s when I drop the muffled “Please” that Gwen, the receptionist, finally looks away from her screen, smiling slightly.
“Sir, if you could plea—”
“Oh, thank God!” Mitch pants, blowing past me as Ty appears down the hallway, accompanied by a policeman resembling a bear. In comparison, Ty looks like a small kid, so tiny and…broken, as he struggles in the policeman’s hold.
“Sir, you can’t go in there!” Gwen calls after him, but I hold up my hand, waving her off.
“It’s okay,” I tell her. Ty looks okay. He’s okay. It’ll all be okay.
“Bobby!” Mitch greets the policeman who must be his acquaintance, Sergeant Lincoln. I jog after him, running right up to Ty, just managing to get to him before he looks ready to passout. Slumping against me, he seems to have deflated by now, all fight gone out of him. His fingers dig into my sides, clinging to my hoodie as he buries his face against my neck. I wrap my arms around him, pulling him tightly against my chest, relief coursing through me, while fragments of a conversation blow past me. “Just a drunken brawl.” “No property damage or injuries.” “Saw your name in his files.” “So grateful you called me, Bobby.” “I owe you one.” “Don’t mention it.” “Won’t be any charges.” “Thanks, man.” “Call me for a beer sometime.” “Will do.”
“Let’s go,” Mitch murmurs, as Ty sniffs against my chest. “Let’s go home.”
Tyler slept curled up on my lap the entire way home, not even waking up when Mitch made a few stops on the way for all the things he likes: peanut butter,Mountain Dew, strawberry Pop-Tarts,and Sweet Chili Doritos. He’s gonna have the mother of all hangovers when he wakes up tomorrow—or today, actually—but we’ll be there for him when he crashes. Because I’m sure he will. Crash. Something happened between the time that we dropped him off in Pasadena and picked him up at the precinct. I’m not sure what, but it must’ve been bad since he ended up this drunk and devastated.
Mitch turns off the truck in our drive, sighing audibly, as he takes Ty in, a tender look in his eyes. I know what he’s thinking.I’m thinking the same. Ty belongs with us where we can keep him safe and make sure that he doesn’t pull this self-destructive shit.
“I’m never doing that again,” I whisper, Ty squirming in my lap.
“Hell no.” Mitch rubs his face. “Let’s get some sleep, sweetheart,” he whispers back. I nod while Mitch gets out of the car and jogs around to my side, opening the door for me. I maneuver Ty into my arms and get out carefully, making sure not to bump his head. “You good?” Mitch takes us in, concern evident in his voice.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I say, adjusting Ty in my arms as I walk toward the deck, the gravel crunching under my boots, the only sound aside from Ty’s heavy breathing in the quiet night. Mitch is two steps ahead of me, running up the stairs, throwing open the door we apparently forgot to lock. A lowwoofgreets us as Bree wakes from her doggy bed, blinking her eyes a couple of times.
“It’s okay, Bree Girl,” Mitch coos. “Go back to sleep.” She seems content with that, burying her head in between her fluffy paws, eliciting a low rumble. Ty stirs in my arms as I move to the couch, sitting down with a grunt.
“Cal?” he mumbles, half-asleep, his voice so incredibly frail.
“Shhh,” I say into his sweaty bangs, muffled noises coming from the kitchen as Mitch puts stuff away and runs the faucet.
“Where are we?” Tyler sits up slightly, blinking his eyes open. They’re red-rimmed, the white bloodshot, the cinnamon swimming in the middle.
“We’re home,” I say, not letting go of my hold on him. He winces, then nods quietly, swallowing, as two fat tears make their way down his unusually pale cheeks.
“No, no,” I coo. “Don’t cry, baby.” The endearment slips out all on its own. “You’re good. Everything’s good,” I squeeze him.
“No, it’s not,” he whimpers. “Nothing’s… It’s all turned to shit, Cal. Everything,” he sniffs, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand.
“It’s fine,” I say. “You’refine. Nothing’s so messed up it can’t be fixed.”
“I don’t thinkIcan be,” he full-on sobs now, shaking his head defiantly like a little kid who’s just proclaimed he can’t ride a bike. “I can’t.”
“Hey, look at me,” I counter, pinning his chin between my thumb and index finger, forcing him to look at me. “There ain’t nothing wrong with you, Ty,” I grit, my heart about to explode with anger because Ty feels this way about himself. “You’re perfect, you hear me? You’re the most perfect boy in the world, baby. Youare.” I’m going to tell him every day until he believes me, if that’s what it takes.Weare going to tell him. He remains silent, his eyelashes fluttering restlessly.
“Here you go,” Mitch’s deep voice engulfs us, as he holds out a glass of water in one hand and two pills in the palm of his other. Ty looks up, a shadow moving across his face as he takes in Mitch’s offerings like they’re poisonous. Then he shakes his head like a petulant child.
“No.”
“Ty…” Mitch sighs. “Please take the pills. You had a lot to—”
“I said no!” he spits at my man, his voice sharp, his body tensing in my arms. I feel strangely torn, wanting to hold on to Ty but also pull Mitch into my arms. “I don’t want your fucking pills, Mitch!” He struggles out of my hold and leaps to his feet, swaying from side to side. Mitch instinctively reaches for him, the pills landing on the floor, but Ty bats his hand away. “Don’t fucking touch me!” he yells, pushing at Mitch’s chest. Hurt flashes across my man’s face before he catches himself.
“Ty, please, don’t be—”
“What?” Ty spits. “Be what?” Tears are trailing freely down his cheeks now and I stand up, looking between the two men that mean the most to me in this world, bewildered as to what to do. I’ve loved the one for more than six years and the other has just recently crept into my heart, claiming a place for himself there. “Akid? That’s what you mean, isn’t it, Mitch?” Mitch takes a step forward, reaching for Ty, who dodges him, nearly stumbling in the process. “I’m not that kid anymore!” Ty cries, his bottom lip trembling, his cheeks flushed and wet.
