Lucas was on the floor with his back to the wall, a cushion under his knees, an old shoebox in his lap, and when he peered up at me, his face was blotchy, his blue eyes red, tears tracking down his cheeks. It hit me how vulnerable he looked.
I stopped short, my chest tight in a way that had nothing to do with anger or plans or the ranch.
“I didn’t mean to upset you, Lucas,” I said. The words came out wrong immediately. “No.” I took my hat off and held it in my hands. “Maybe I did. I’m confused, Lucas. I didn’t?—”
“It’s not that,” he said. “I know it’s messed-up; I get it. You’re supposed to hate me, just like everyone…” He scrubbed at his eyes, and he hadn’t finished what he was saying, but what the lack of words implied shut me up.
He wiped his face with his sleeve and looked at me, jaw locked as if he was bracing for another hit.
“I found Miguel,” he said and swallowed. “I asked himoutright about that night, about how Walter pulled him out, about him dying, and he told me that my grandfather was a good man. That WalterfreakingBarrett accepted and supported him. Stood up for him when it mattered against everything. So why couldn’t he accept me?” Lucas asked. “Why did he have all this information that he paid for, but he didn’t want me?”
I crossed the room without thinking and lowered myself to the floor beside him, and he didn’t move away. After a second, he leaned onto me, tentative at first, then heavier, his shoulder knocking into my chest as if he’d run out of strength to hold himself upright.
I slid an arm over his shoulders and tugged him in, a sideways hug that let him keep the box, let him keep his space, but told him I was there. He moaned under his breath as he folded into me, and I stayed like that, breathing with him, my hand firm at his shoulder. He fidgeted, cursed, and then, finally rested in a comfortable position.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” I whispered, and he sighed.
“I was fifteen,” he began, then shook his head. “No, it started further back than that. My dad, Dennis Barrett, wasn’t a good man. He was bitter, angry, a drunk; he never hurt me physically, but it was…”
“Words.”
He glanced at me, frowning. “Yeah. Words and neglect. He was… hateful.” He went quiet, lost in thought.
“Well, you know I have one like that,” I said because I hated the silence.
“Yeah,” Lucas said, and he glanced up at me and was so damn sad. “Does your dad know you’re queer?”
“Fuck no,” I said, “he nearly killed my brother for coming out to him, and I’m not half as brave as Hoyt, nor half as stupid.”
“Doesn’t it hurt to hide yourself?”
“No. When I needed anything, I’d head to Denver. I don’t want anything more than that.”
“Just sex, then.”
“Yep. What about you?”
Lucas sighed. “I wasn’t an easy person to hide out inside. I mean, I came out to my parents unintentionally just by being me. You know, I was this short, curly-haired kid who loved eyeliner and drama club, so it was obvious. At my mom’s wake, Dad lost his shit. Threw me out, tossed my belongings, burned them in front of me and everyone else who never for one minute stepped in, got his gun, told me to run.”
“Jeez—”
“You’d better believe I ran, because it was an impossible situation, and I knew it could only get worse. You get that right?”
“Yeah, I do.”
Hoyt had run because he had no choice. I just wished he’d taken me with him or killed our dad right there on that day. Although killing would have put Hoyt in jail, I didn’t wish that. But in more selfish moments, I wished I’d been important enough for my brother to stay.
“I ended up on the streets, had some savings, ended up at this homeless charity, Harbor 5280, that found kids like me, helped us. They took me in and saved my life. That’s who the money would go to.”
“The money? Oh… you mean from a sale?”
“Yeah.”
Great, add that extra guilt to me now. One more thing for me to wrestle with, thinking kids out there might go without.
Christ, I’m a selfish fucker.
“… so, the night before Rebecca found me—she runs the charity now—I called Snow Creek, used my last dollar, begged to come here, needed my grandfather to send me some money, or find me, and he let me cry and explain about Dad, about being queer, about being thrown out and homeless, and you know what he said without hesitation?” I shook my head. “Along with a lot of slurs, he said, and I fucking quote, ‘no sissy girly would step foot on Snow Creek’.”
