Page 98 of The Sound of Him

I’m safe, I’m safe, I’m safe.

Set free.

Chapter Eighteen

Ace

I milk every ounce of peace I can get out of the time spent holding Matt in my arms as we listen to the blues. It’s not long before his breathing calms, then deepens as he slips into a light doze against my chest. I hold as perfectly still as possible, not wanting to disturb him.

I let the entire playlist run in order to do so, even the songs I usually skip because their sound quality is utter shit compared to the vinyls I’ve managed to get of them. I listen to over an hour of the recommended songs the app plays after the playlist is finished too, even when a few of them aren’t worthy of recommendation, in my opinion.

Who the fuck wrote an algorithm that thinks pop-country artists should be recommended after a listening session full of Charlie Patton and Robert Johnson and Muddy Waters?

I mean, rolling into Nirvana’s fucking beautiful cover of Lead Belly’s, "Where Did You Sleep Last Night?”Fuck yeah, give me that.A new artist - new to me, at least - named KIRBY singinga song about black leaves that sends goosebumps through me?Say no more.

Some bluesy-jazz with Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong? A little bit of Johnny Cash? Some Zach Bryan and Radio Company and Hozier?Sure. Fine. All of that.

But who in their right-goddamned-mind would consider recommending George Michael in between Woody Guthrie and Etta James?I mean, my god, my dearest lord, whoever is up there... what in the ever-loving fuck- just, no. Nope. Nuh-uh.

I draw my line at George Michael - something Keaton’s heart will likely never recover from. He once asked me how I could hate him when I love Elton John so much. I hadn’t spoken to him for three weeks for making such a comparison.I mean, George Michael and Elton John, Keaton? Why? Because they’re both gay?

We’ve promised each other to just never bring the topic up again.

It’s not a vow with this music app, though, so it played me George Michael. It played me George Michael - Careless Whisper, even, that’s how dire the situation was - and I did nothing. I didn’t do a thing. Because Matt was asleep in my arms, peaceful, warm, safe, and I wasn’t going to take that from him. I wasn’t going to take that fromme.

So, Matt stays asleep and I… listen to Geroge Michael.

Keaton can never know.

I wait until I get the alert that Travis is only ten minutes away before gently adjusting Matt in my arms and murmuring, “Hey. Hey, Matt. Can you wake up for me?”

He does so violently, nearly falling off my lap. I manage to stop him, but a pained noise escapes him as his elbow connects with my desk. The noise is heartbreaking. The way he freezes right after, like he’s just realized he’s awake but not alone, is even more so.

“It’s Ace,” I say quickly. “You’re with me. You’re with Ace. You’re in the safehouse. You’re safe. It’s just Ace. We were listening to the blues, remember? Hiding in my office. Just me and you. You’re safe.”

He relaxes in increments before finally going boneless with a heavy exhale. It makes me want to just keep holding him. To just hold him for as long as he needs. We could sprinkle in some bathroom breaks and snack breaks and just do this the rest of the time - just be here, safe, hiding, him in my arms, the blues playing in the background.

Except the music has stopped and he has friends who would break down that door if we made them wait long enough and Travis is seven minutes out.

“Travis is going to be here in a minute. I need to go meet him downstairs for a quick debrief and then I’m just going to send him to bed. You can stay here, if you want. Not right here, exactly, I kind of need to bring my lap with me, but the couch is actually comfortable and there’s the throw pillow. You can have another snack if you want. Or just go back to sleep. Or whatever. Only if you want. I have the key, so if you want to lock it behind me, feel free. Or don’t. Either way, you can stay. Sleep. Eat. Or just sit. Stand. I don’t care. Whatever you want. Or just go back to your room, if you’d rather. Nolan isn’t in there, just so you know, but… yeah. He’s safe, though. Nolan, I mean. He’s with Maison. In - uh - in Maison’s room. Think he’s probably sleeping at this point.” I laugh nervously. “Anyway, yeah. You can stay. Or go. Whichever. No pressure.”

He slides off of my lap as I finish, adjusting the blue fuzzy thing I had noticed before. It’s a bunny. I smile and reach out to tap its little pink nose. “I like your bunny.”

Matt’s cheeks turn ruddy as he jerks the bunny toward the front pocket of his sweatshirt. I watch as he carefully slips thestuffed animal inside of it.Is he embarrassed? Or is the bunny just something personal? Something not meant for me?

“He likes to hide too sometimes, huh?” I quietly ask, wanting him to know it’s okay. Anything he ever needs to do in here is okay. “That’s alright. The two of you are safe in here, but it’s cool he has his own little hiding spot too. Just don’t let the little dude throw paper balls at me, okay? No offense to bunnies, but I just have this feeling he has horrible taste in music. Worse than Keat - uh, myfriend. Which is saying a lot, okay? Bunny music is where I draw the line. I mean, what kind of music would that even be? Songs about hopping? Or jumping? Some House of Pain? Van Halen? Yeah, no. That’s a no, Matt. I’m sorry. Make me the bad guy. He can hate me. I’ll take that hit.”

He’s smiling again. It’s so soft, almost invisible if you’re not paying attention. Just the littlest difference at the corners of his lips, at the skin around his eyes, in the slope of his eyebrows.

“You can break that news to him while I go meet Travis.” I head toward the door, glad to be leaving things on a lighter note. “Like I said, you’re free to stay or leave, whatever. I’ll be quiet when I come back in, just in case you fall back asleep. Or I can get the music going again for you. Uh - actually, here-”

I move back to my computer, reaching over the side of my chair to the keyboard. I enter two codes - one to get rid of the alert and the other to lock down everything but the music platform, just in case he has a surprising snooping streak or something. Then I restart the blues playlist, turning the volume up just a notch so he can still hear it alright from the couch without it being so loud that he can’t sleep if he wants.

“There. Music is going, if you want. Just use the mouse to pause it if you’d rather it be off, though. There’s the pause button right there. Or just leave. Whatever. I’m starting to feel like I should be singing that Clash song to you or something.You know?Should I stay or should I go now?” I sing that last sentence - terribly, on purpose, to make him happy.

That smile of his grows a little.

God, what a feeling it is to see his smiles.