“Back up!” I screamed, turning around and scooting backward on my butt. “Back up or I’ll alert the sheriff, and he will shoot you.”
“The sheriff doesn’t shoot, dummy,” one of the men said.
He picked me up and slammed me down against the alley. I could not sense a thing but his foul breath when he growled in my face, “You the one who killed Tony?”
“Tony? I don’t know a Tony!” I yelled back.
I didn’t have a clue who that man could be. An Italian at the casino? Some enemy of Jordan’s who had nothing to do with me?
A foot kicked my stomach, and it stole my breath.
Did I kill Tony?If so, I was sorry to Tony, whoever that was.
The Italian spat on me, and his saliva smelled of plaque. “We find out you’re responsible, we will kill you. Understood. For now? A warning.”
One boy punched my stomach so hard vomit surged in my mouth. He picked me up and threw me down again. All I could do was mutter, “Sorry... sorry...”
Then I was all dizzy, like those slaves who took alcohol and became so tired they couldn’t think of escape. Free people didn’t mess with wines, beers, liquors—free people were too focused. Why did I let Jay introduce me to that poison?
“Nick?” someone called from the end of the alley.
It was Jay... He was running to me.
“Jay, no...” I lifted up a weak hand to stop him, but he kept coming.
“What’s going on here?” he asked, the lights dimming some in his eyes.
The other boy ran to him and gave him a good hard punch to the mouth, sending him down. Jay and I crawled to each otherand grabbed hold of each other—me with a sore stomach and Jay with a busted lip bleeding in a silk line to the pavement.
“Remember this next time your folks think to mess with my family,” one of the boys said.
And they both fled.
Jay and I sat up against the bricks, all covered in spit and blood and catching our breath.
“You know why things like this happen, right?” he asked.
“Because we’re faggots,” I said, and spit to remove the sour taste from my mouth.
“No. It’s because we ought not involve ourselves in missions with Italian gangsters. I can’t believe I allowed that to happen.”
“You talk like you’re my father.” I nearly laughed through my shallow breaths.
“Sometimes you do need supervision,” he said, with depth.
“Probably so. I’m a sack of trash. Not pretty and rich like you.”
“You’re plenty pretty, Nick.” He rubbed a thumb against my cheek. “You’re just down on yourself.”
I turned to face him. “Am I not a social experiment? Like West Egg? You really like me?” I was a slurring mess, swaying left to right.
“You’re falling over, Nick...” Jay reached over and caught me, pulling my shoulders so my posture was straight. “I wouldn’t lie to you about liking you.”
I was obsessed with him. His beauty, his aura, and our banter, which did something for me even after being beaten alongside him. I was hopeless to stop our magnetism, hopeless to stophinging my zest for life on the destructive attraction that bloomed so quickly between me and Jay. But any friendship must bloom slowly with care so that it would be stable and make sense. Otherwise, it wasn’t a friendship. It was something else entirely.
Jay unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off his arms. It snagged a bit at the biceps, but he tugged it off and used it to wipe my mouth. The chain glinting around his neck, catching some of the light in this alleyway... I remembered that it was his mother’s. I understood why he’d want to wear her around everywhere—I missed my mother too.
I played with the chain. He straddled my thighs, lifted a flask to my face, tipped my head back, and siphoned icy water down my throat.
