“This time of night, the police will be here in another minute or two because he can’t be outside.” He was surprised they weren’t here already. “I know you could press charges, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t. I’ll pay for the damages.”
Oliver kissed his temple, and Nick shuddered.
“Please.” His throat hurt. If Oliver stayed any longer, Nick would start sobbing, right there in his front yard.
Oliver left. His tires crunched as he backed over the shattered glass on the asphalt.
Wordlessly, Nick went back to the kitchen and got his keys. Hayden flinched when Nick picked up the baseball bat, but he went back outside. He was numb and exhausted, feeling like someone else was in his body as he turned the key in the old sedan’s ignition and pulled it down the driveway. He got out and went to the passenger side, picking up the bat.
It took a few swings. He had to give Hayden credit for taking out the SUV’s window in one go. Anger and homophobia gave him special powers.
As the glass cracked and shattered, filling the night with another crash, and sirens started to echo down the street, the only thing Nick heard was an absence.
He tossed the bat into the trunk.
Later, when the police left and Hayden was in his room again—but with the door open, the policy going forward—and Nick was alone in his bed...when his heart finally stopped slamming in his ribs and the last shivers of his crashing adrenaline faded, he heard a quiet voice in his head. It reminded him—softly, gently, painfully—of the thing he hadn’t realized in the chaos, the thing he almost needed to hear the most. The words that would have given him hope for more in his life than the furious boy whose eyes matched his, who looked at Nick like dirt on his shoe.
Nick buried his head under a pillow, but the insidious voice persisted.
Oliver hadn’t said he loved him too.
18
By noon on Sunday, Oliver was teetering on panic. He hadn’t slept much the night before. Nervous energy had kept him awake for hours, and then worry for Nick occupied the rest until the sun came up.
He shouldn’t have gone over there. Shouldn’t have treated it like some kind of booty call when Nick clearly had deeper responsibilities and commitments than Oliver could have anticipated. He’d stopped defending the petty criminals and first-time offenders who got off with house arrest so early in his career that he’d never given its wider ramifications much thought. And he’d rarely defended juveniles, so the impact that sort of sentence would have on immediate family had hardly crossed his mind.
Nick was trapped. The terrified look on his face as Hayden smashed Oliver’s car made it all clear. So did Nick’s heaving body in Oliver’s arms while he tried to breathe through his panic attack. He was as trapped as his son, but he’d taken the sentence on voluntarily, trying to do the right thing for his family.
Oliver was desperate to talk to him, but Nick would need room to deal with Hayden’s legal fallout. Oliver had already muddied the waters too much. He needed to give Nick space and time, but the waiting made him pace tight circles in his living room, and it hadn’t even been a day.
Oliver drove downtown to meet Seb and Martin for brunch, although he really didn’t feel like going. He’d taped up the window on the SUV with plastic sheeting. Neither Seb nor Martin had a car, so Oliver would have to get a recommendation on a body shop from someone else. Fuck, he should probably sell the stupid thing. He should have sold it as soon as he’d left Cooper, but he’d been so caught up in plans for the business that shopping for something new hadn’t seemed important.
Seb and Martin were waiting in front of the building that housed their gallery and apartment. Seb whistled as Oliver stepped out of the car.
“What the hell happened there?”
Oliver grunted. “I was moving stuff around in the garage and knocked over a shelf.”
The lie was better than the truth.My boyfriend’s juvenile offender son nearly caught his dad deep-throating me in the basement and took his frustration out on my Porsche with a baseball batdidn’t quite trip off the tongue. And while the bookshelf story could only lead to more questions, Oliver could lie his way through them.
“A shelf?” Seb raised a blond eyebrow.
Bingo.
Oliver muttered responses as they walked down the street. By the time they arrived at the diner, Seb had either bought Oliver’s explanation or gotten bored.
Oliver ordered a black coffee, sausage hash, and an extra side of bacon. He ignored the nervous glances his brother and Martin threw each other and scalded his tongue on the coffee.
“Everything okay?” Martin asked.
“Yeah, you said sausage hash, but you meant egg white omelet with a side of hay, right?” Seb smiled, then flinched after Martin must have kicked him under the table.
“Everything’s fine.” Oliver downed the rest of the coffee and leaned back to flag their server for more.
“You’re sure?” Seb asked.
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
