“He doesn’t like anyone very much. Why do you think he stays in the kitchen?”
“Still.” Iggy closed those three steps, but five feet of porch still separated them. “I’m thirty-four-years-old, but sometimes being back in Chance…makes me feel like an awkward teenager again. All spit and fire and more courage than brains.”
“I felt like that a lot when I first came back. It goes away.”
Until your first love comes crashing back into your life and reminds you of your absolute worst sin.
Iggy nibbled on the edge of his thumbnail, then seemed to notice the nervous tick Malcolm hadn’t seen in forever, and he shoved his hands into his back jeans pockets. “Do you, uh, want to come inside? I found a bottle of Evan Williams in a cabinet, if you want a nightcap.”
“Straight whiskey? Doesn’t seem like your thing.”
“It’s not. I’ll probably drown mine in cola, but it’s all I’ve got until I can get to the store for some proper groceries and libations.”
“Dude, you work in a bar.”
Iggy tsked with his tongue as he unlocked the trailer’s storm door. “I’m volunteering at a bar, which is probably slightly illegal, but once Howie is home, we can figure out paperwork and all that shit. Anyway, I’m not stealing booze from my uncle’s bar.”
“Too old for the thrill of it?” Malcolm followed him inside. The trailer had a fresher scent he couldn’t put his finger on. “Or is it more fun when you’re sixteen and trying to get drunk for the first time with your secret boyfriend?”
“Definitely more fun when you’re sixteen.” Iggy pulled the bottle of whiskey from a top cabinet in the small kitchenette. “Although you weren’t my boyfriend yet when you goaded me into stealing that vodka. We were just really horny for each other.”
“If you recall, I was horny for you long before booze got involved.” Malcolm approached the small table where Iggy had placed the whiskey and two glasses. “I wanted to spend time with you. With this confident guy who called me on my bullshit, and who saw me. Who saw what was going on and cared enough to track me down so he could ask if I was okay.”
“And you weren’t.”
Old hurts washed over Malcolm like boiling water, and heclosed his eyes…
…Malcolm discoveredthisbend in Snow Creek two years ago, when things really started going bad with his parents, and it’s his favorite spot to sit and not think. The creek narrows here, which should make it optimal for wading to the other side, only Mother Nature left a small gravel pit worth of rocks in the water, creating the kind of rapids a white-water rafter might covet. If only the creek rates that sort of activity and it doesn’t. It’s much better suited to fly fishing and canoeing.
It’s the sound of the rapids that soothes him, the white noise of water constantly rushing over stones, gravel, and the riverbed below. He saw a cartoon once, and a girl sang about never stepping in the same river twice. He likes the idea of water always changing, washing away the old and carrying forward the new.
The freezing late autumn water is too cold to dip his toes, so he closes his eyes and pretends he’s swimming. It’s easier than thinking about the fight this morning, or that he’s missing play practice again and actively avoiding places Iggy might look for him.
He hid the Epsom salts under his bed so his dad didn’t find them and accuse him of being a chicken-shit for not being able to handle a few punches.
His lower back twinges and he shifts on the grassy spot he chose near a smooth, flat rock the size of a small car. It would be a nice picnic spot, a place to spread out the contents of a basket for someone he’s interested in. But that kind of romantic crap is for romantic people, and that’s not Malcolm. He’s seen romance in movies, and he sees it sometimes in couples at school. Picnics with roses and strawberries is for girls.
Not whatever these weird feelings he’s been having for?—
“Hey, Monte!”
His entire body jerks, which sends a bolt of fire down his back, and he releases an undignified noise he’ll never admit is a yelp. He scrambles to stand and glares against the setting sun as Iggy strides toward him, wrapped up in his red winter coat and yellow scarf.
“There you are,” Iggy snaps. “I saw you in school today, so what gives with ditching play practice, dude? They actually need us to move the house during the tornado.”
“That house is light enough and it’s on wheels. You can move it by yourself.”
“Not the point. We’re on crew together.” Iggy finally stops being mad and puts on this sad, concerned face that makes Malcolm want to tell him all his secrets. “What happened?”
“Wasn’t feeling it.” That’s true.
“Are you avoiding me?”
“No.” That’s not true. Spending time with Iggy after school is the best part of his day, has been for two months. Seeing Iggy here, in his safe spot, brings Malcolm a burst of peace he doesn’t expect. “How did you find me?”
“I called your sister.”
“You what?”
